


Lieutenants

by ScottWashburn



Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2015-11-13
Packaged: 2018-05-01 10:43:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 217,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5202884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScottWashburn/pseuds/ScottWashburn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a sequel to "Tales from the Academy". Anny Payne, Barrayar's first female officer, has graduated from the Academy and is now a Lieutenant with an elite assault regiment. She along with her friends, Jer Naddel and Alby Vorsworth, have to adjust to the realities of regular service and earn the respect of their comrades. It is peacetime, but events far across the Wormhole Nexus will soon draw them into a battle of unimaginable ferocity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lieutenant Part 1

 

 

**Lieutenants**

A Fan Fiction Novel set in the Worlds of Miles Vorkosigan

 

By Scott Washburn

 

 

 

 

Author’s Note: This story is a sequel to my fan fiction novel: “Tales from the Academy”. If you have not read “Tales”, I suggest you do so before reading “Lieutenants”.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This story includes characters and settings created by Lois McMaster Bujold and are used without her permission or knowledge.

 

 

 

 

**Prologue**

 

 

 **“S** he’s left already?” asked Countess Cordelia Vorkosigan. “Drat, I was hoping to talk to her again. Aral and I are off to Sergyar tomorrow and there won’t be another chance. If I’d known, I would have skipped the lunch with Alys.” She took a seat in the Yellow Parlor of Vorkosigan House and accepted a cup of tea from Ekaterin, her daughter-in-law.

 

“She seemed rather eager to be off with Jer,” said Ekaterin, smiling.

 

“Yes, I can understand that,” replied Cordelia, smiling in turn and sipping the tea.

 

“I hope things can work out for them.”

 

“They seem a good match, but who knows? They’re so young. At that age if anyone had told me I’d end up here, I would have thought them insane.”

 

Ekaterin laughed. “At that age I would have thought the same! Strange the paths life leads us down. It’s a shame she didn’t take up the Emperor’s offer, though. Helen is very upset.”

 

“She’ll get over that. But Anny made the right decision, I think. She loves the soldiering life and being the Empress’ bodyguard really isn’t soldiering.”

 

“I suppose not. But you are right, she does love it. And she seems very good at it. And it’s wonderful how devoted her friends are to her. From what Miles tells me of her recent adventures she’s won the respect of the men under her command, too. That’s pretty amazing considered how hard they fought to keep her out of the military to begin with.”

 

“Joan of Arc Syndrome,” said Cordelia, shaking her head.

 

“I beg your pardon?”

 

“A legendary heroine of Old Earth,” explained Cordelia. “She said that God had told her to lead the armies of France to victory so the prince could be crowned king. I could never quite understand why God would care who was king of France, but more to the point, Joan became a military leader in a society even more male dominated than Barrayar’s. Many opposed her, of course, but those who believed in her _really_ believed, to the point of worship. I think it’s like that here for Anny—not her personally, of course, but the men around her. Barrayaran men still can’t really accept women as equals—at least not in something so traditionally male as the military.”

 

“But she’s certainly proved she can do the job!” protested Ekaterin.

 

“Yes, exactly. There’s no denying what she’s done—so they try to deny what she is. Since she _can’t_ be a woman _and_ their equal then she has to be something more. Not an equal, but a superior. Joan claimed to be God’s chosen tool and the men of France could accept that. They wouldn’t follow an ordinary woman, but a woman chosen by God, well, that was a different matter! They don’t go in for such things here on Barrayar, but the whole Vor system is based on some people being better than others even when they are clearly not. So they accept Anny as being something special, someone they can give their loyalty to without embarrassment because she is special.”

 

“Oh. Well, I guess that’s a good thing.”

 

“In some ways perhaps. But it’s a two-edged sword, Ekaterin. While she will attract a group of fiercely loyal people around her, she’ll also collect just as many enemies and detractors. People who oppose her because she’s a woman and those who are jealous of her success and resentful of the loyalty she inspires in others. In fact, it’s a sword with two edges and a point. Because she’s in a position where she dare not make a mistake. If she makes a major screw-up, she risks losing her band of supporters when they realize that she isn’t really super-human after all. She may end up having to fall on that sword.”

 

“Oh dear… but not Jer. Surely he’ll stand by her!”

 

“One would hope. Not being Barrayaran, he’s outside the normal rules. But Anny’s walking a tightrope and there are still plenty of people hoping she falls.”

 

“But they can’t be thinking to stop women joining the military now! I understand there are nearly a hundred more entering the Academy this year. And Miles says they are even looking at letting women into some of the enlisted roles.”

 

“No, they’ve lost that fight, but that won’t stop the ones who are acting on prejudice—or anger. Anny’s made some enemies, you know, and Barrayarans know how to hold a grudge. While I’m hoping that Anny is happy with her new regiment, now that I think on it, part of me wishes she’d taken the job with the Empress. She’d be a lot safer there.”

 

The look on Ekaterin’s face became one of surprise and concern. “Safer? Do you think there are people who would actually try to physically harm her?”

 

“I hope not, but who knows? There are the four officers who were court-martialed because they tried to rape her. They’d certainly have a motive. They and their families and their friends. You know how Miles suffered his pre-natal injuries: a duel, a man condemned for it, a vengeful brother, and a soltoxin grenade in the night. You, yourself survived an assassination attempt.” Ekaterin stiffened and her hand went up to brush her neck.

 

“It’s not Anny’s fault those louts tried to rape her!”

 

“And it wasn’t Aral’s or my or Miles’ fault that young fool fought a duel and yet here we all are.”

 

“Oh dear…”

 

“I hope my fears are groundless,” said Cordelia. “But I also hope that Anny is careful. Very careful.” She finished her tea and set the cup on a table beside her chair. She didn’t mention to Ekaterin that Joan had ended up burned at the stake…

 

 

* * *

 

 

Brigadier General Thayer Sylvanus stood and watched the Regiment of Cadets pass in review.

 

For him.

 

For the last time.

 

His tenure as commandant of the Imperial Service Academy had come to an end. The new commandant, Colonel Vorcourt, stood to his side and slightly behind him. The Change of Command ceremony had been completed and now the cadets were paying their final respects to him. It was an old, old tradition—like almost everything that happened at the Academy.

 

His emotions were kept as rigidly in check as his posture. As each company came abreast and saluted him, he returned their salute and blinked back tears. He’d known this was going to be hard, but he hadn’t realized how hard.

 

He told himself he should be jubilant. He was wearing general’s tabs on his collar and he had a new and important assignment ahead of him. Those were Academy traditions, too. A departing commandant was always promoted and given a good assignment. A reward for all those years riding herd on a bunch of snot-nosed kaydets.

 

But instead he was filled with a profound sadness. He tried to tell himself that he was just tired. But he knew that wasn’t true. The truth was that he was going to miss this place. Miss those snot-nosed kaydets.

 

The 1st and 2nd Battalions had already gone by and the tail end of the 3rd Battalion was nearing him. They were looking quite good, Sylvanus thought. But now there was a stir among the assembled staff officers near him. The 4th Battalion was approaching and they… didn’t look quite so good. Of course it would be unfair to expect them to look very good. They’d only been here a few days and had had no chance to do any serious drilling. He supposed he should have timed his departure differently, but it had just worked out this way.

 

Each of the ten companies of the battalion was still at full strength, a hundred strong. The inevitable weeding out process had pared the other battalions’ companies down to sixty or seventy, but the plebes were still all here. They were led by the veteran sergeants who were acting as their company commanders until such time as they rated their own. A few of the other Academy NCOs had been added on as file closers to herd the young cadets through the review.

 

And they were wearing black fatigue uniforms rather than dress grays and they were marching without any weapons. But they were doing their best not to disgrace themselves and Sylvanus had certainly seen companies of raw recruits which had looked a lot worse than these boys.

 

Boys and girls.

 

There were six women in the 2nd Battalion and nineteen more in the 3rd, but they were swallowed up by the mass of young men and you had to look hard to spot them. Not so with 4th Battalion. The trickle of women applying to the Academy had grown to a stream. Over a hundred of them were with the incoming class. Still only a tenth of the total, but you couldn’t miss them anymore. He glanced back at Vorcourt, trying to gauge his reaction to the women.

 

The last company marched past and shortly the whole regiment was back in line facing him and presenting arms. One final salute, which he returned and it was over. He sighed and his shoulders fell slightly, but a moment later he was surrounded by faculty and staff, shaking hands, saying good-bye. His personal aide, Paolo Scoggins, would be coming with him, but everyone else was staying behind. He’d miss them, too. They were good people for the most part. He hoped he could put together as good a team with his new command.

 

“Well, General,” said Colonel Vorcourt when most of the other officers had dispersed, “let me congratulate you again on your promotion. I know you are probably anxious to be on your way, but I was wondering if you’d come back to headquarters and let me pick your brain for a bit before you go. Have a drink, perhaps?”

 

Sylvanus hesitated. He did want to get out of there, but he couldn’t really refuse Vorcourt’s request. So, he found himself walking across the enormous parade ground toward the building where he had spent so many hours. Vorcourt had already replaced all the furniture in what was now his office, so it seemed quite different. In a few moments they were both seated with drinks at hand.

 

“I must say the job seems a bit daunting from this perspective, General,” said Vorcourt. “But I imagine you felt the same way when you took over.”

 

“Yes,” chuckled Sylvanus, “but we were still scrambling with all the changes required by the switch to the four-year curriculum. My predecessor did a good job when they dumped it in his lap, but changes like that can’t be accomplished overnight—or even in a year. It took quite a while to get it all running smoothly. I’m hoping that we got it pretty well taken care of during my tenure and you won’t have too much trouble carrying on.”

 

Vorcourt nodded. “From what I’ve been able to see, I think you are right. I can’t say that I fully agree with the changes, but that’s not something either of us has any say over, eh?” Sylvanus just shrugged. “On the other hand, they managed to dump an entirely new mess in your lap, General, and I daresay _that_ is something I’ve inherited from you just as you inherited the previous mess!”

 

Sylvanus’ eyebrows rose. He had been wondering what Vorcourt’s feeling were about the female cadets—since that was obviously what he was referring to—now he knew. “It was quite a challenge dealing with them at first, Colonel, but I think we’ve gotten past the worst of it. The new women’s barracks is working out well and the rules and procedures have, too. I think if you just continue as we’ve started you should make out all right.”

 

Vorcourt snorted and shook his head. “I can see the view of those who support the new curriculum, but this! This is just a pack of nonsense they’ve done to win points with the Empress! Politics! It’s been the bane of the service right along and this is just the latest example.”

 

“Perhaps so, but I’m afraid that we—you—are stuck with it. They’re here and I think they are here to stay.”

 

“At least for the moment, I’m afraid you’re right. But I’m praying that someone will come to their senses before irreparable harm is done. I mean I can even see there being some provisions for women in non-combat roles, but to expect women to lead men in combat—or for the men to follow them—that’s just crazy.”

 

“Not entirely crazy,” said Sylvanus. “I assume you’re aware of Lieutenant Payne’s actions on her apprentice cruise last year. Quite an accomplishment for anyone, let alone a woman.”

 

Vorcourt just snorted again. “More politics! If she’d been a man she would have been court martialed instead of given a medal! That kind of favoritism is going to demoralize the men!”

 

Sylvanus sighed. He thought back to the kind of ‘favoritism’ Anny Payne had experienced during her four years at the Academy. Harassment, verbal and physical abuse—he remembered her standing in this very office with two black eyes and her nose broken—and every dirty trick the people who opposed her could think of. The few bits of actual ‘favoritism’ that had come her way hadn’t even been able to level the playing field—maybe just tilt it a little back the other direction. She had stuck it out and pushed forward through sheer grit. And then, faced with a difficult combat situation she’d taken charge and led her men into battle—and they’d followed her. In doing so she’d convinced a lot of people—including Sylvanus—but not everyone. Some would just never see and he was afraid that Vorcourt was one of them. And arguing with him would do no good at all… He got to his feet.

 

“Well, I do have to be going, Colonel. I’m sure you’ll manage to cope with the situation the same as I did. Good luck.” He held out his hand and Vorcourt shook it.

 

“Thank you, General, the best of luck to you, too.”

 

The colonel escorted him out of the building where he met up with Scoggins, who was keeping his wife company. Darla had come for the farewell review and now he took her arm and they walked to where an aircar was waiting for them.

 

“So, are we off at last?” she asked.

 

“At last. Happy to be going?”

 

“Part of me is. I will miss the place, though. And I know you will, too.”

 

Sylvanus grunted noncommittally.

 

“Yes, you will, don’t try to deny it.” He grunted again. “But such a long face! Are you worried about something?”

 

“Vorcourt seems very much against the idea of the girls being here. He could make things very difficult for them if he tried.”

 

To his surprise Darla laughed and tugged at his arm. “Let him try! While you were off getting ready for the parade this morning, _I_ was having a nice little chat with the colonel’s wife. Charming woman. She is absolutely thrilled having the girls here! And when I told her about your tradition of having a batch of cadets over to the house for Sunday dinner, she said she would continue it—and she plans to invite a lot of the girls, too! Let’s just see him try to give them a hard time!”

 

Sylvanus chuckled. “Amazing.”

 

“What?”

 

“That we men continue to deceive ourselves into thinking we run this empire.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Lord Auditor Vorkosigan, Sire.”

 

Gregor Vorbarra, Emperor of Barrayar, Sergyar, and Komarr looked up from his breakfast to see the diminutive form of Miles Vorkosigan brush past the servant with a casual wave of his hand.

 

“Morning, Gregor.”

 

“Good morning, Miles. Have a seat. Coffee?”

 

“Thanks,” said Miles, helping himself to a cup and then sitting down opposite him. “What’s up?”

 

“Well, nothing, really…” Gregor paused at the look of disappointment on Miles’ face. “What? Are you getting bored, Miles?”

 

“It has been a while since anything interesting came along.”

 

“Your definition of interesting almost always means a headache for me. Are you wishing me more headaches, Miles?”

 

“Of course not,” replied Miles in a tone of voice that was not entirely convincing. “So what did you call me here for, Sire?” The expression on Miles’ face grew somber. “I guess I ought to remind you that I was planning to leave for Escobar the day after tomorrow. I don’t think I’ll be gone that long. I’m at your disposal, of course, but if whatever you need could wait…”

 

“No need to change your plans,” said Gregor very softly. “And Miles…? I’m very sorry to hear about Sergeant Taura.” Miles nodded and looked away. “If there’s anything I can do…”

 

“Thanks, Gregor, but I don’t think there’s anything anyone can do. But I do want to be there for her. It’s… it’s important.”

 

Gregor cleared his throat and nodded. “This won’t take long. I just want to get your opinion on something before you leave. Are you aware of the situation on Nova Paveo?”

 

Miles frowned. “Paveo? Is that the place where… no, that was Novo Hatana…”

 

Gregor smiled at his rare stumping of Miles. “It’s a colony of the Nuevo Brasilians…”

 

“Oh right! I read something about that the other week. Some sort of uprising by the colonials?”

 

“Yes,” replied Gregor, his smile fading completely. “And the latest word is that the NBs aren’t going to take it lying down. It looks like it could get ugly. Very ugly.”

 

“The NBs do have that reputation,” said Miles, nodding. “But what does that have to do with us? I mean it must be a hundred jumps away, at least.”

 

“A hundred and twenty-nine, actually, and through eighteen other inhabited systems.”

 

“Right, so what does…?” Gregor raised his hand and cut off Miles’ question.

 

“This came the other day,” he said, picking up a flimsy from the table and handing it to Miles. “It’s from the Polian ambassador.” Miles took it and quickly scanned down it. His eyebrows jumped up and he looked at Gregor.

 

“Good Lord. Are you seriously considering doing this?”

 

“I haven’t ruled it out. And it does open some interesting… possibilities.”

 

“Yes, I suppose it would,” said Miles with a calculating look on his face. “But have you considered the costs?”

 

“I have. The cost in treasure could be managed. The cost in blood…” he paused and looked sharply at his foster brother.

 

“That’s why I wanted to talk to you.”

  
 

**BOOK ONE**

 

 

  
**Chapter 1**

 

“ **I** miss Patric,” said Lieutenant Andreanne Payne, looking around the interior of the half-filled shuttle. The large farm boy from South Continent, who had been an almost constant companion during her four years at the Academy, was missing and it felt so strange.

 

“Yeah,” muttered Alby Vorsworth from the seat opposite her. “Not the same without the big lunk.”

 

“Well, it was a hard choice for him, but he did what he had to do,” said Jer Naddel from beside her. “Sometimes family has to come first.”

 

“I thought we were family,” said Alby grumpily.

 

“Come on, that’s not fair,” said Jer.

 

“I sure hope you didn’t say that to Patric!” said Anny. “He’s got enough to worry about!”

 

“I’m not that stupid,” said Alby defensively. “I just… well, I miss him, too.”

 

Anny smiled and reached over and patted Alby’s knee. “Yeah.” Their friend, Patric Mederov, was supposed to have been going with them to join their new regiment, but a serious family emergency had forced him to go home instead. He’d managed to wangle a ‘temporary’ assignment with another regiment stationed near his home. They all hoped it was just temporary, but you could never tell with the military…

 

Anny looked out the small window beside her. The land beneath them was growing more rugged and tall pine trees covered nearly every bit of ground that wasn’t too rough for them to cling to. A few patches of the red-brown native Barrayaran plant life showed through here and there, but Terrestrial vegetation was winning out as it usually did. They were headed to Fort Vorolson, which was in the foothills of the Parnassii Mountains, a towering range in Vortugalov District in the far northeast of North Continent. It was only about a thousand kilometers from Vorbarr Sultana but it was on the edge of the settled territories and beyond the mountains was the desolate north coast of the continent where few people lived. Only a thousand klicks farther north was the legendary Kyril Island. Just the place to put a military base.

 

The fort was home to several regiments and a number of smaller formations. Their regiment, the 61st Imperial Infantry (Assault), the ‘Vorlinton Guards’, was supposed to be a pretty good outfit. Anny was sorry that they hadn’t been able to join the 42nd Infantry, which they’d been with for their apprentice cruise, but they were the victims of their own success. The 42nd might have been able to absorb four new ensigns all at once, but with Anny, Jer and Alby all commissioned as lieutenants due to their decorations, well, the 42nd didn’t rate three lieutenants right now. The assault regiments, with their very high standards, were perpetually short of officers and priorities were set on the basis of need. The 61st was at the top of the list at the moment and even with the influence of Alby’s father behind them, if they wanted to stay together it was the 61st or nothing. It had been an easy decision. The four of them had been inseparable at the Academy and while it was inevitable that in time they would be forced to go their separate ways, they wanted to postpone that as long as they could.

 

_What if Jer and I have to go our separate ways?_

 

She glanced at the young man sitting next to her. He was from the planet Komarr and he had been the first one at the Academy to befriend her during her improbable journey as Barrayar’s first female officer-cadet. They had become friends and then—as soon as they graduated and the regulations allowed it—lovers. She wanted to stay with him always. Would they be allowed to?

 

“Whoops,” said Alby, “I think that must be the place.” He gestured toward the window. Anny looked again and saw that the forest had abruptly ended. A wide valley filled the space between two mountain ridges and Fort Vorolson filled the valley. Or nearly so; dozens of structures were scattered here and there. Large open areas, parade grounds or landing fields were also evident and paved roads crisscrossed the installation. Toward the southern end of the valley, adjacent to the fort, sat a medium-sized town, Malverton. Hundreds of people and many vehicles could be seen busily moving about as their shuttle passed low over the base.

 

The shuttle’s turbines took on a higher pitch as the vehicle slowed, hovered, and finally set down on a concrete pad near what was clearly a hangar. A dozen other shuttles were parked nearby, many of them with their maintenance panels open and crewmen working on them.

 

“All right, we’re here,” said Anny unbuckling her safety harness and standing up. “Grab your gear and let’s report in. The 61st Infantry is waiting for us!” She spoke lightly and smiled, but inside she was tense and worried. This was no temporary assignment, this was going to be her regiment. For years, possibly for her entire career. What would it be like? Would she be accepted? What if they didn’t accept her? She remembered the wonderful sense of comradeship that had existed in the 42nd when they were there. It was the thing her innermost soul craved, what she’d been dreaming of when she began her crazy attempt to join up. But it was a thing that could only be given freely. There was no way to take it by force no matter how determined she was. If the Regiment wouldn’t take her in, there wasn’t a thing she could do about it. She glanced at Jer and Alby shouldering their duffles. _At least I’ve got them. No one can take that away._ But she knew that wasn’t really true either… she’d already had Patric taken away….

 

The shuttle’s hatch swung open and Anny headed for it. She was the senior officer aboard and tradition demanded that she exit first. Jer and Alby followed and the half-dozen enlisted personnel who had shared the ride with them held back to let the officers go first. Unlike when they arrived to join the 42nd when they’d been dumped out alone two kilometers from the headquarters building as a prank, there was a sergeant waiting for them with three privates and two utility vehicles parked next to the landing pad. The sergeant saluted her smartly. “Sir? Welcome to Fort Vorolson. The boys will take your gear to your quarters, I’ll take you to headquarters.”

 

Anny returned the salute. “Thank you, sergeant.” She turned her duffle over to one of the privates and exchanged grins with Alby and Jer. Quite a change!

 

“Well, this is more like it,” said Alby, handing off his own load. They got into the vehicle, Anny sitting next to the sergeant and Jer and Alby in the back. The vehicle started forward and the sergeant steered it onto a road that led away from the shuttle pads and toward a distant group of buildings set against the forest-covered ridge.

 

“The lads with your gear are just from the duty company, Lieutenant,” said the sergeant. “We’ll have to get you a proper set of dog-robbers once you’re assigned to companies.”

 

“A set of what?” demanded Jer.

 

“Batmen, sir. Personal orderlies.”

 

“I know what a batman is. Never heard the other term.”

 

“Just a bit of slang we have up here, sir.”

 

“Beautiful day,” commented Alby. “Nice and cool. It’s sweltering back in Vorbarr Sultana. Does it stay like this all summer?”

 

“Mostly. We do get some serious thunderstorms at times. But wait until Winterfair, sir. Three meters of snow on the ground. You’ll miss the heat.”

 

“So what’s the 61st like?” asked Jer. “A happy regiment, I hope?”

 

“Mostly, sir. A good group of lads. We do have a few… well, not my place to say, sir. But I’m sure you’ll do fine.” He cast a glance at Anny as if he was reevaluating his last statement. Suddenly he tromped on the brakes and the vehicle slowed sharply. Anny had to put her hand on the dash to keep from being thrown forward. “Bloody hell,” growled the sergeant. “Sorry sir.” Anny looked ahead and saw that an enormous vehicle was crossing the road in front of them. “Those maniacs _know_ they’re not supposed t’do that!”

 

“Someone from the 283rd, I presume?” said Anny.

 

“Could hardly be anyone else!” exclaimed Alby. “Look at the size of that thing!”

 

“A Mark XXI heavy tank,” whistled Jer. “Never seen one close up before.” Anny stared at the behemoth. It looked to be about half the size of Vorkosigan House. One of the other units at Fort Vorolson was the 283rd Independent Tank Battalion. They had ten of the Mark XXIs. Each vehicle was so big and so powerful it rated as a platoon all by itself.

 

“Wow,” said Alby. “I read that they’ve got the weapons and shielding of a light cruiser. How’d ya like to command one of those babies?”

 

“No thanks,” said Jer. “Just a big target begging for something even bigger to make it a big hole in the ground. I’ll stick with my battle armor, thank you very much.”

 

“Right you are, sir,” said the sergeant. “And they’re not supposed to drive the damn things on the roads!”

 

“Well, technically, I don’t think it’s actually _on_ the road, sergeant,” said Alby, pointing. Anny looked and sure enough the tank’s mammoth caterpillar treads were not touching the ground. They floated a dozen centimeters above it. The tank was running on its anti-grav units. Indeed, a moment later the whole thing took to the air, turned north in a lazy arc and headed off, gathering speed every second.

 

“Show offs,” muttered the sergeant, setting their own vehicle into motion again.

 

“It’s getting so you can’t tell the tanks from the space craft,” said Jer.

 

“Pretty darn impressive, all the same,” said Alby, his eyes still following the tank which was dwindling to a speck above the ridge. “Wouldn’t mind seeing the whole battalion on the move all at once.”

 

“Not likely to get the chance, sir,” said the sergeant. “The great ruddy things cost so much to run and maintain all but three of ‘em have been put into storage. Can’t say I mind: a lot safer on the roads.”

 

“Huh,” said Alby sadly. Next to fireworks and other things that went _boom_ , there were few things Barrayarans liked better than huge, clanking war machines.

 

Their own vehicle was now passing a large parade ground where several hundred men were engaged in calisthenics. Just beyond the parade grounds were the barracks and other buildings belonging to the 61st Infantry. Or so a large sign next to the road announced. The regimental crest was blazoned on the sign: a pair of crossed bayonets surrounded by fancy scrollwork. Written on a narrow banner below was the regimental motto: ‘Give them the cold steel!’ Anny glanced at the sergeant and saw that on his collar he had a brass ‘61’ on one side and ‘VG’ on the other. The 42nd Infantry had worn similar insignia, but they were very particular about who was allowed to wear them. She wondered what she’d have to do to earn hers here.

 

“Wow, quite a change from Fort Vormeyer!” exclaimed Alby, pointing at the buildings. Anny looked and agreed. The fort on South Continent where the 42nd was stationed had all been squat, flat roofed concrete blocks. The buildings here were mostly made of the local timber. Wood plank siding or sometimes actual logs formed the walls. The roofs were steeply pitched and covered with shingles. In some ways it reminded her of her home village in the Dendarii Mountains, except none of the buildings in Red Rocks were nearly as large as the buildings here—and few were as well kept up. Everything looked freshly painted, indeed, she spotted a work crew on ladders by one of the buildings; lawns were closely mowed, shrubbery pruned, and neat paved walkway, lined with tall pines ran between the buildings.

 

Their vehicle turned into a circular driveway in front of one of the larger structures. A sign proclaimed it to be regimental headquarters. The other vehicle with their gear continued on its way, presumably to their quarters—wherever they might be.

 

“Here you are, gentlemen,” said the sergeant, bringing the vehicle to a halt. “Just go right through the main doors. There’s an information desk just inside. They’ll get you to the OOD. Report to him.”

 

“Thank you, sergeant,” said Anny, climbing out. Jer and Alby joined her and they headed up the steps. A pair of sentries were flanking the doors and they came to attention as the trio passed inside. As promised, there was a desk inside the doors and an enlisted man gave them direction to the duty office. The interior of the building had lots of wood paneling and wood floors set off by brass hardware on the doors and stair railings. Paintings of famous battles and past colonels hung on the walls.

 

The Officer of the Day, a lieutenant, was on the comconsole when they entered the duty office so they waited patiently until he was done. “Yes?” he said when he finished.

 

Anny, as the senior, saluted and said: “Lieutenants Payne, Naddel and Vorsworth reporting for duty, sir.”

 

The lieutenant casually returned her salute. “Your orders?” Anny and the others had them ready and handed over the documents which the OOD tossed into a basket on his desk. “Okay, pretty much everyone’s out in the field at present and no one left any orders for you. So, you may as well head over to the BOQ and get yourselves settled. I’m sure the Adjutant is going to want to talk to you before you get your duty assignments. But in the meantime, welcome to the 61st. I’m Nate Gilchrist.” He offered his hand and Anny took it and then the others did so as well.

 

“Glad to be here,” said Anny.

 

Gilchrist snorted. “You won’t be. The place is a madhouse.”

 

Anny raised her eyebrows, but only replied: “Well, we better get over to the BOQ. I’ve downloaded a map of the base so we shouldn’t have any trouble finding it.”

 

“I can get a car for you if you want,” offered Gilchrist.

 

“No thank you, sir. It’s a beautiful day and we’d like a look at the base. Besides, we’ve been on a shuttle for two hours. Nice to stretch our legs.”

 

“Suit yourself,” said Gilchrist and turned back to his comconsole.

 

“Madhouse, eh?” said Alby as they went down the steps from the building. “Not sure I like the sound of that.”

 

“Don’t pay it any mind,” replied Anny. “Commodore Koudelka once told me that every regiment and every ship claims to be the worst madhouse in the service. It’s a point of pride.”

 

“Gilchrist didn’t seem surprised—or upset—to see you, Anny. I’m hoping that’s a good sign,” said Jer.

 

“We can hope,” she said. “Or maybe the Colonel just issued the same sort of bloodthirsty orders as Admiral Vorkoff did on our apprentice cruise.” During their cruise as cadets the officer commanding the task force had been so worried that Anny’s presence as the only woman was going to reduce his command to chaos that he’d exiled her to an isolated ship and ordered his men to not even look at her. Things had worked out okay in the end, but she hoped she wasn’t going to face the same treatment in the 61st. She wanted to become a part of the regiment and she couldn’t do that if no one but Alby and Jer would have anything to do with her. Well, she would just have to see how things came out. They walked down to the main road and turned right.

 

The layout of Fort Vorolson had all of the big support structures: hangars, garages, warehouses, maintenance sheds, armories, power and water stations and so forth, on the west side of the valley. The open areas, the parade grounds and exercise fields were to the south which provided a buffer between the base and the town of Malverton. The east side, where they were now, held the barracks and offices of the troops stationed at the fort. In addition to the 61st and the 283rd there was the 139th Infantry, the 32nd Artillery Battalion and a half-dozen smaller units of engineers, transport troops, medical troops and the like. All put together they formed the 25th Brigade under the command of General Vorsilva.

 

The main road they were following bisected this part of the base. The 61st’s structures were along one side and the 139th’s on the other. While there was a bustle of activity on the 61st’s side, the other side looked nearly deserted. “The 139th must be out on exercises or something,” remarked Alby.

 

“No, I don’t think so,” said Jer. “They’re a reserve regiment, remember?”

 

“Oh, that’s right. Still, they’ll probably all come flooding in sometime this summer, I’d think.”

 

Anny looked at the empty barracks across the road. The Barrayaran military boasted over two hundred regiments plus a horde of additional units. It was one of the biggest militaries in the wormhole nexus, probably second only to the Cetagandans. But it hadn’t had a serious war to fight in a generation. Keeping a force like that fully mobilized all the time was more expensive than could be justified. So only about a third of the regiments were kept at full strength. The rest were either ‘first line reserve’ or ‘second line reserve’; they would maintain a cadre of officers and NCOs who would keep things organized and train new recruits, but the rest of the men were reservists who would only show up for refresher training a few times a year. In an emergency the reservists could be quickly recalled to the colors, but emergencies were rare and the ones that occurred could usually be handled by the active regiments—like the 61st.

 

“There’s the main mess hall,” said Jer. “That smaller building must be the officers’ club.”

 

“Then that other building, just beyond, must be the BOQ,” said Anny. Sure enough, the small sign next to the walkway leading up to the structure identified it as the Bachelor Officers’ Quarters. It was a two-story wood building that didn’t quite look like a barracks. They trooped in through the front door.

 

“How do we know which rooms we’re in?’ asked Alby.

 

“I don’t suppose they’ve…” began Jer, looking at a directory board hanging from one wall. “I’ll be darned, there we are. Efficient.” He pointed and, indeed, their three names were there among the other occupants. “Anny, you’re in 219, Alby, 212 and they’ve put me in 104.”

 

“Jer, if you want to switch with me, I don’t mind,” said Alby with a grin. When they’d been visiting Alby’s home after graduation he’d put them in adjoining rooms and they hadn’t really made any secret of the fact that they were sharing a bed.

 

“I…” began Jer, blushing slightly.

 

“Let’s just stay where they put us for now,” said Anny. She looked at Jer and he nodded. They’d discussed their situation at length and they hoped to work out something where they could share quarters once they got settled. But for right now, they wanted to keep their relationship as invisible as they could manage. What they were doing wasn’t illegal, but it was by its very nature unprecedented. They weren’t sure how others would react.

 

“Okay, let’s get unpacked then. Meet you back here in an hour or so?” They agreed to that and then Anny and Alby went upstairs. Her room was all the way at the end of the hall and her gear had been placed inside. She breathed a silent sigh of relief when she saw the room had its own attached bathroom. While she had forced herself to use communal facilities when necessary, it was still so much simpler if she didn’t have to. From the size of the room she guessed that she had been put in a room meant for an officer of considerably higher rank than she held. Most senior officers were married and had their own quarters, or had the means to rent a house or apartment off the base, but occasionally mid-ranking officers came on temporary assignments and needed places to stay. She guessed that these quarters were meant for a major or even higher. Somehow it didn’t surprise her a bit that they’d put her here. The same thing had happened on her apprentice cruise. Hell, the same thing had sort of happened during her first two years at the Academy—although in that case her quarters were a wreck for the first year. Apparently the powers-that-be still couldn’t quite figure out how to treat her. She was really hoping that she and Jer could find an apartment in town that they could afford and avoid the whole issue.

 

But the quarters were quite nice. Bed, desk, chest of drawers, closet, carpets on the floor, curtains on the windows, paint on the walls, it was neat and comfortable. A number of thick, fluffy blankets in the closet lent credence to what their driver had told them about the winters up here. She unpacked her stuff and spent a while deciding the most logical places to put it. The thought struck her that when she got her batman—her _dog-robber_ —that he’d probably decide to rearrange everything. She’d heard stories about those men: long service career soldiers who not only acted as servants but also ‘took care’ of the young officers they were assigned to. She wondered how the man assigned to her would feel when he discovered he was working for a woman? She grinned as she put her underwear in a drawer, was her man going to be able to deal with doing her laundry? Her grin faded when she remembered that she’d have to pay the man a stipend out of her already meager salary. If she and Jer managed to figure out a way to share quarters would they end up with two dog-robbers or just one? _So many things I still don’t know…_

 

She finished up and sat on the bed. She reached into a pocket and pulled out a credit chit. It was the one that Lord Mark had given to her as a reward for her actions on the apprentice cruise. It held an absurdly large sum of money—more than her and Jer’s combined salary for the next ten years would be worth. It would make their lives a whole lot easier—but she couldn’t keep it. She’d checked and it was very definitely against regulations for an officer to accept money from a civilian. The rule went back over a century to when the emperor was trying to solidify his authority over the district counts. You couldn’t have nobles rewarding army officers. No, she’d have to get rid of this. She’d give it to Lord Vorkosigan. She was quite certain he’d be able to make it vanish with no questions asked.

 

She was just checking the time when someone rapped on the frame of the door, which she’d left open. She assumed it would be Jer or Alby, but she was surprised to see that it was someone else. A dark-haired man of medium height with a pleasant smile and lieutenant’s tabs on his collar leaned in and said: “Hello. You’d be Lieutenant Payne, I’m guessing—but you could hardly be anyone else, could you? Sven, Sven Estaban, B Company. Welcome to Fort Vorolson.” He stepped inside and offered his hand. Anny took it and they shook firmly.

 

“Nice to meet you, Sven. And thanks for the welcome. You knew we were coming, I take it?”

 

“Oh yes, the rumor-mill was working at full power! It’s always an event when we get a batch of new officers, but when we heard that _you_ were coming—well!” He shrugged.

 

“It did seem like no one was particularly surprised to see me,” said Anny. “Rather pleasant, actually.”

 

“I bet you’ve gotten your share of double-takes.”

 

“More than my share. I’m hoping that given time I’ll be accepted as an officer and people will forget that I’m a woman.”

 

“That might be asking a bit much!” chuckled Estaban. “Still, I think you’ll find that the 61st is willing to give you a chance. The stories about what you pulled off with the 42nd are damned impressive…”

 

“And probably totally exaggerated,” interrupted Anny.

 

“Even allowing for that, you’ve got more real combat experience than most of the officers here, Anny. You don’t mind if I call you Anny, do you?”

 

“Since you outrank me you can call me anything you like, sir,” Anny smiled to let him know she was kidding. She was assuming that Estaban had seniority over her—unless he’d been promoted to lieutenant in the last two weeks.

 

He laughed. “First names between officers of equal rank when off duty is the rule here. Or for officers junior to you, of course. The regiment is pretty relaxed about stuff like that you’ll find.”

 

“Good to know. Thanks.”

 

“So have you had a chance to look around?”

 

“Just the drive between the landing field and HQ and the walk from there to here.”

 

“Can I give you a tour?”

 

“I’d appreciate that. Let’s find the others.”

 

Estaban’s pleasant expression faded a bit. “Others? Oh, right, you didn’t come alone.”

 

“Nope, there are three of us. Come on, Alby’s down the hall.” She led Estaban out of the room and then shut the door and after a moment’s hesitation locked it with the key she’d found on the chest of drawers. Alby popped out of his room when he heard them coming and introductions were made. Anny took a look into his room and confirmed her suspicions: it was significantly smaller than hers, although still comfortable. Then they headed down the stairs and collected Jer. Estaban seemed a little taken back at the growing size of the group he was now giving a tour, but he remained cordial enough.

 

“You can eat at the mess hall if you want,” he said as they walked past the building. “and a lot of the junior officer will do that for breakfast and lunch to save money. Food’s not bad and they have a separate line and seating section for officers. The officers’ mess is a lot nicer, though, and most everyone eats dinner there. There’s a membership fee, of course and a couple of different meal plans. They’ll let new arrivals eat there free for a week or so until they get settled in, so don’t worry about today. It’s a nice place, really. They have some good parties and on holidays the wives decorate. Sometimes girls from the town will be invited.” He gave Anny an odd glance.

 

“So what’s the regiment like?” asked Jer. “How’s the Colonel?”

 

“Vortaglia? Well, to be honest, we hardly ever see him. He’s almost eighty and he spends most of his time at his home down on the south coast. Lieutenant Colonel Fetherbay runs things day to day. He’s not bad but you can sort of tell he’s not happy with the situation.” Estaban stopped talking and glanced at each of them, especially Alby, perhaps wondering if he’d said too much.

 

“The military needs some sort of mandatory retirement policy,” said Alby. “My own da stayed on way past his prime. I read that Vortaglia inherited command when the previous colonel got vaporized at Escobar. That was forty years ago! You’d think if he was any good he would have made general a long time ago.”

 

An awkward silence followed. It was a touchy subject: too many superannuated officers occupying too many important positions. Whether for the prestige, the salary, or just love of the military, many officers stayed on active duty until they keeled over dead or were medically retired when it became impossible for them to do their job. A lot of younger, lower-ranking officers were annoyed that they couldn’t advance because the upper slots were filled with such antiques.

 

“Does the regiment get a lot of shipboard assignments?” asked Anny to change the subject. It was something close to her heart. She really wanted to get out there among the stars--again.

 

“About average, I guess,” replied Estaban. “3rd Battalion’s with the fleet right now. They’re due back in about three months. If the standard rotation holds then it’s our turn next. 1st Battalion, I mean. Probably next year some time. Looking forward to that! Have you guys got your assignments yet?”

 

“No, the OOD said that all the other headquarters officers were out somewhere.”

 

Estaban nodded. “2nd Battalion’s doing an exercise with the 283rd today. I guess the HQ people are observing. They ought to back before dinner, though.”

 

The tour continued through the pleasant afternoon weather and Estaban pointed out all of the areas of interest on the east side of the base. There was one building under construction, however, that he was unable to provide any information on. “They’ve been very hush-hush about it for some reason,” he said as they walked past. A while later he checked the time. “We better head back. Overall, things are fairly relaxed here, but they do insist on observing all the forms. Dress parade is at 1700 for the regiment.”

 

“Undress greens okay?” asked Anny.

 

“Nope, dress greens,” replied Estaban. “Sword, medals, the works. Of course since you haven’t been assigned, I suppose you could skip it…”

 

“We’re still part of the regiment. We’ll attend and stand with the staff.”

 

“Suit yourselves. But it is always a good show. We’ve got a hell of a band.”

 

They reached the BOQ at 1630 and went to their rooms to get ready. Fortunately, the only real differences between dress and undress greens were the stiff visor-caps instead of the soft fatigue caps, the medals instead of ribbons, white gloves, and their swords. Anny had a second tunic with the medals already on it and she quickly changed into that and then buckled on the sword belt and attached her sword to it. The dress cap with its gold imperial eagle on the front was in its box. She buffed a tiny smudge off the visor and set it on her head and then pulled on the gloves. This was the first time she’d actually had a reason to wear dress greens and she paused for a moment to admire herself in the mirror on the back of her door. She had to admit that she did like uniforms and the Barrayarans had some of the snazziest around.

 

Estaban had already gone to join his company so Anny collected Jer and Alby and headed out to the parade ground. With 2nd and 3rd battalions away, there were just the four companies of 1st battalion assembling on the edge of the parade ground. Anny was interested to see a sizable crowd of civilian spectators lining the edge of the field. Families of the men, she supposed or just interested folks from the town. She spotted the battalion adjutant with the colors talking to the principal musician by the band and headed over to him. He looked at them in surprise as they came up and saluted. “Sir? We just reported to the regiment today and we haven’t been assigned anywhere,” said Anny. “Permission to stand with the staff?”

 

The man looked sharply at her but then shrugged. “Sure, welcome aboard. The staff’s lining up over there. We’re starting in about three minutes.” Anny thanked him and headed over to where several officers and senior NCOs were waiting. They stared with curiosity at the newcomers, but there wasn’t even time for introductions before a bugle called them to attention and everyone had to take their places.

 

The four companies were lined up in march columns on the edge of the parade ground. About a hundred meters in front of them, the adjutant had established the color line. He, carrying the battalion’s flag, had posted himself in the exact center. On either side of him, a few paces away, were the two general guides, sergeants carrying small flags called guidons. A hundred meters to one side was the band, posted on the right of the line (although from Anny’s perspective it was to her left). When the battalion commander arrived, he would take his position exactly opposite where the adjutant was standing and about thirty meters away. Anny and Jer and Alby and the other staff were to the right and slightly to the rear of that spot, the staff officers closest to the commander’s spot, then Anny, Jer and Alby and then the NCOs. She drew her sword and rested her hand on her right hip, the blade of the sword lightly touching her shoulder. It was all prescribed in the regulations.

 

Everyone was in position and after about a minute a utility vehicle drove up to the edge of the parade ground and two men got out, an officer and an NCO. Anny nodded her head slightly in satisfaction. She’d heard stories about commanders who would keep their men waiting in ranks for a half hour or more before arriving. It was an insult to the men who were here to pay honor to their commander.

 

For that was what dress parade was all about: the command paying tribute to their commander. It was a ceremonial formation that went back hundreds of years in Barrayaran history and, from what Anny learned in her history classes at the Academy, had been imported almost without change from Old Earth where it had originated over a thousand years ago. That the commander had arrived so promptly spoke well of the 61st.

 

As the officer got closer Anny was surprised to see that he was only a captain. But then she remembered what Sven Estaban had told them: Colonel Vortaglia was rarely here and the lieutenant colonel, who would normally command the 1st Battalion, was in command of the whole regiment. Which meant that someone else had to command 1st Battalion, probably the senior captain.

 

The captain was walking to his post when he noticed the extra officers in the staff row. He frowned and made a detour to speak to the adjutant. Anny couldn’t hear what was said, but she imagined the captain was wanting to know who the strangers were. After a moment he nodded and walked to his spot. The NCO who had been with him was the battalion sergeant major and he went to his own place, down near the left end of where the battalion line would form.

 

Everything was ready. The adjutant looked toward the band and nodded his head. A moment later a bugle rang out playing _To the Colors_. This was one of Anny’s favorite bugle calls and it sent a chill down her spine and set her close-cropped brown hair on end, her scalp tingling. Immediately the second company began to move, followed a few moments later by the others. They converged on the adjutant and went from column into line and then halted. The color sergeant stepped forward and took the flag from the adjutant and the companies’ captains had the men dress their ranks on the colors.

 

The band, which had struck up a lively march while the troops were moving, finished up and silence ensued. The adjutant looked to his right and then to his left, seeing that all was in order. Then he stepped back and commanded: “Battalion, Shoulder-Arms! Guides—Post!” The men brought their rifles down to their right sides and all the officers, sergeants, and guides went to their spots, the two general guides taking positions on the extreme ends of the line. The captain commanding the battalion had not moved a muscle, for this was the oddity in dress parade: the commander was just a spectator, the adjutant ran the show.

 

The adjutant turned to his left and marched down to the right end of the line and faced about, looking back along the line. He put the battalion at parade rest. All the officers rested the points of their swords on the top of their left boots and folded their hands across the hilts.

 

Then the adjutant took a breath and ordered: “Music! Beat-off!” The principal musician raised his baton and there was a roll of the drums and a trill of the fifes as they did the ‘three cheers’. Then they broke into another tune and marched forward and wheeled to their left and moved across the front of the battalion. Estaban was right: they were very good and Anny’s hair was soon standing up again. _Damn_ , she loved this! She knew that all this ceremonial stuff served no real purpose and the close-order drill was totally obsolete on a modern battlefield, but she still loved it. She never felt more like a soldier than during these moments. Just a few weeks ago she’d turned down a very tempting offer by ImpSec to serve on the Emperor’s— _the Emperor’s!—_ security detail. There had been a lot of reasons for her decision, but this was an important one: in ImpSec she wouldn’t get to do things like this anymore.

 

The band reached the far end of the line and countermarched and came back the way it had come, playing another tune. They came opposite their original position, wheeled back into line, countermarched again, and finished up with another ‘three cheers’. Anny let out her breath.

 

The adjutant had the battalion open ranks and then marched across the front of the battalion until he was exactly opposite the commander and then turned and came to a spot about ten paces from him. He turned around to face the battalion and commanded: “Battalion! Present-Arms!” With a slap and a crack, hundreds of rifles were brought forward in front of the men. All the officers raised their swords so the hilts were opposite their right eyes and then they were slowly lowered so that the points were near the ground, pointing slightly to the right. The adjutant spun around again and saluted the commander. “Sir, the parade is formed.”

 

The captain drew his own sword and commanded: “Battalion! Shoulder-arms!” He then quickly ran them through the manual of arms, shifting the rifles from one position to another, ending up with the men back at order arms with the rifle butts on the ground. He then returned his sword to its scabbard and became a statue again.

 

This was the adjutant’s cue. He faced the battalion and ordered: “First sergeants, to the front and center-march!” The four top sergeants stepped out from the ranks, marched to the center and reported the status of their companies. After sending the sergeants back to their posts the adjutant turned and saluted the commander. “All present or accounted for, sir.”

 

“Very good,” said the captain returning the salute. “No additional orders at this time, lieutenant.”

 

“Yes sir.” The adjutant turned to face the battalion. “Attention to orders! The parade is dis-missed!”

 

All the officers returned their swords to their scabbards. The adjutant marched forward until he was in line with all the company officers and then turned to face the commander. All the other officers faced in toward the adjutant and marched forward to close on him. The staff officers, Anny, and all the rest went and attached themselves to the end of the line. When all were there the adjutant commanded: “Officers-front! Forward-march!” Everyone turned to face the commander and then marched forward in a line. When they neared the commander, the adjutant halted them and commanded: “Officers, hand-salute!” Everyone saluted and the captain returned it. He then relaxed and smiled.

 

“Nicely done everyone. Excellent job. As you might have noticed, we have a few newbies with us today,” he nodded in Anny’s direction and heads turned. “But we’ll save introductions until dinner. You can dismiss the men and I’ll see you shortly in the mess.” They all saluted again and then relaxed. The four company commanders gave small waves of their hands to their first sergeants who immediately marched the companies back to the barracks. The staff NCOs quickly disappeared, but the officers became a rather unmilitary gaggle strolling in the direction of the officer’s mess. A few of the civilian women, wives or girlfriends Anny supposed, intercepted some of them and strolled along. Sven Estaban came over and joined Anny and her friends. A number of other officers gathered around them as well.

 

“So,” said Estaban, “what did you think? Are we up to Academy standards?”

 

“It was wonderful,” said Anny and she meant it.

 

“Very sharp,” said Jer.

 

“As good as I’ve seen,” added Alby.

 

“Uh…” said Anny, lowering her voice, “who’s the captain in command?” She’d memorized the names and faces of the senior officers, but hadn’t gotten down to the captains.

 

“Oh,” laughed Estaban. “That’s Captain Vorglanov. Fetherbay has brevetted him a major, but it’s strictly unofficial, no rank, no pay, not even the tabs. Doesn’t seem to bother him. He’s all right.”

 

“So, Sven, you appear to know our guests already?” asked one of the other officers.

 

“Met them at the BOQ this afternoon. Just a lucky encounter.”

 

“Care to tell us their names or is that a secret?” said another.

 

Estaban seemed to enjoy being the center of attention and he smiled. “Well, Vorglanov did say introductions could wait, but I guess there’s no real harm. These are Lieutenants Payne, Vorsworth and Naddel, just joined the regiment today.” A chorus of welcomes and names flowed back at them, far too many names to remember, but Anny smiled and nodded her head anyway.

 

As they walked, the conversation died away when a low rumble caught their attention. Every head turned toward the ridge to the east and a few moments later the rumble grew to a roar as a swarm of dark specks appeared. The specks grew quickly and Anny could see that there were several dozen assault shuttles headed their way. The noise penetrated to her bones as they screamed overhead.

 

“Second battalion, back from their exercise!” shouted Estaban in her ear.

 

The noise faded as the shuttles came in to land across the valley from them. “Guess the Old Man will be at dinner after all,” commented one of the officers. The conversation started up again as the group strolled down the road toward the Officers’ Mess. Various questions were tossed Anny’s way, but they were all in the nature of small talk and she was able to field them and toss them back with no problem. As they neared the main mess hall, they saw that the troops had already shed their dress uniforms and were streaming into the building wearing fatigues. A bugle sounded ‘dinner call’. Anny raised an eyebrow: a lot of units had done away with most of the old bugle calls for the day’s activities, only retaining a few. It seemed like the 61st was clinging to the old ways and Anny found that she approved.

 

They reached the Regimental Officers’ Mess building and went up a short flight of steps and through the doors. A smile came to Anny’s face. When they’d been with the 42nd, the regimental officers had created a facsimile of a traditional mess inside a modern steel and concrete building. Here, the 61st had the real thing. From the outside the building had looked like many of the others: timber construction and perhaps three stories high. Inside, it was just one floor with high walls and a towering ceiling which was really the underside of the steeply pitched roof, supported by exposed beams and curving trusses. Tall windows lined two of the walls, some of them with stained glass decorations. And everywhere there was wood. Rich, dark, polished wood. Parquet floors, paneling on the walls and elaborate trim everywhere. Brass chandeliers hung down from the ceiling on long chains and wall sconces held more lights. Just as with the 42nd, old flags and banners hung in rows. Beautiful. Her heart seemed to swell.

 

There were shelves and rows of wood pegs near the door. Hats and gloves went on the shelves and swords and sword belts were hung on the pegs. White-tunicked stewards were bustling about, setting tables and offering to bring drinks from the bar. Unlike the farewell dinner she’d attended with the 42nd, tonight was just an ordinary night and the officers found tables or stood around as they pleased. Anny got a beer from the bar, as did Jer and Alby. She was getting hungry, but she decided to mingle for a bit longer. She truly wanted to become friends and comrades with these people. She would be here, working with them, for years to come. First impressions were important. She chatted with anyone who came near and most seemed friendly enough. A few scowled and kept their distance and she got some very odd looks from some of the women, but overall it went well.

 

Captain Vorglanov came by and they talked for a bit. “Fetherbay and the lot from 2nd Battalion will be here shortly, so we’ll save the formal introductions for then,” he said. “Have you got your assignments yet?”

 

“Not yet, sir. We’re all a bit curious.”

 

“No doubt! No doubt! But no one’s told me anything, either. I’ve got an open slot or two in 1st battalion, but we’ll just have to wait and see where they put you, eh?” There was a commotion near the door and some raised voices and heads turned. “Ah, there they are. Come on, I’ll introduce you to Fetherbay. Don’t worry, he growls, but rarely bites.” He led the trio over toward the door where a tall man wearing black fatigues with lieutenant-colonel’s tabs was slowly making his way through a small crowd of people. He had a thin face with prominent cheekbones and a long boney nose. His brown hair was close-cropped with a touch of silver at the temples and a small mustache. His eyes were brown, too, and they were twinkling in amusement as he laughed at some joke that had been made.

 

“Welcome back, Colonel,” said Vorglanov when he got close. “Everything went well, I hope?”

 

“Well enough,” replied Fetherbay. “We need to work with the 283rd more often, the coordination still isn’t what it ought to be. But who have you got there?” He looked past Vorglanov toward Anny. “Our new lambs?”

 

“Yes sir, arrived this afternoon. They haven’t been formally introduced to the regiment yet. Thought we’d wait until you and the others got back.”

 

“Vorsworth, Naddel and Payne,” Fetherbay said nodding toward them. “I was informed you’d be coming. Not much doubt about who’s who!” He proceeded to shake hands with all of them. “Vorsworth, I served under your father about a dozen years ago. How is he these days?”

 

“Well enough, sir, although he’s having trouble adjusting to retirement,” replied Alby. Anny looked at her friend’s face. The truth was that Alby’s father, after sixty years in the military, was wasting away. He’d looked ghastly when Anny had seen him at Vorsworth House. She doubted he’d last the year.

 

But Fetherbay, who hadn’t seen him, chuckled. “Yes, retirement doesn’t agree with a lot of people!” This produced a number of laughs from the surrounding officers. Had that been some oblique reference to Colonel Vortaglia? “But let’s get these introductions over so we can eat,” continued Fetherbay. He looked to his adjutant, a captain, who stepped up on to a chair and said in a loud voice:

 

“Gentlemen! Ladies! If I can have you attention!” He got it immediately and he gestured to Fetherbay.

 

“Evening everyone,” said Fetherbay. “As most of you know by now we’ve got three new officers joining the regiment today. And apparently the 61st must have done something good because this year they’ve sent us lieutenants rather than ensigns! Actual proof that it is still possible to be promoted, gentlemen!” This produced a laugh from the officers. Anny and Jer and Alby stood there, feeling a bit awkward. Academy cadets were normally commissioned as ensigns when they graduated. But the three of them had all managed to earn medals while at the Academy and an old rule mandated that they be commissioned lieutenants instead. It didn’t happen often and Anny wasn’t certain how others might feel about that. She caught sight of at least a half-dozen ensigns in the crowd; they would all have been with the regiment for a year or more and yet she outranked them. Would they resent it?

 

“So, let me present our new comrades,” continued Fetherbay. “Lieutenant Payne, Lieutenant Naddel and Lieutenant Vorsworth. Welcome to the 61st!” Applause and a few restrained cheers erupted from the assembly that went on for half a minute and then petered out. Anny wasn’t sure if they were supposed to respond in any way, but as the applause died people began to turn away. Apparently not. Good.

 

“Gentlemen,” said Fetherbay. He was clearly addressing the three of them. “I’m sure you are all eager to know what your assignments will be. Why don’t we discuss it over dinner?” He gestured toward one of the larger tables.

 

Anny blinked in surprise. “Certainly, sir,” she managed to blurt out.

 

Fetherbay collected his adjutant, a captain named Vorjannis, along with Captain Vorglanov and the commander of 2nd Battalion, Major Waski and they all sat down at a round table. Stewards converged on them from all directions and shortly they had drinks and placed orders for their food.

 

“So, that was quite a little fracas you folks had with the 42nd,” said Fetherbay once they were all settled. “It’s the most exciting thing that’s happened since the 26th put down that triple hijacking out near Botman’s Planet, what? Three years ago?”

 

“Four, sir,” said Vorjannis.

 

“Yes, that’s right. But the last time the 61st heard shots fired in anger was twelve years ago and there aren’t but a handful of men still with the colors who were there. You three are going to be celebrities for a while, I’m afraid.” He swept his gaze over the three of them, but they were spared having to think up some reply by the stewards arriving with their food. Anny had ordered a steak and it was thick and juicy.

 

“But, as for your assignments,” said Fetherbay after a few minutes of uninterrupted chewing. “Lieutenant Vorsworth, I saw in your files that you have a sub-specialty in computers and electronic warfare, correct?”

 

“Yes sir,” said Alby. “It’s always been sort of a hobby of mine.”

 

“Well, as it happens, we have need of your talents. We’re building a new facility up at the north end of the base.” Anny exchanged glances with Jer and Alby; clearly this was the mysterious building Estaban had showed them earlier. “It seems that the bean-counters in Vorbarr Sultana think we’re spending too much money keeping the regiment trained. Their solution is to install a simulator facility like they use at the Academy.”

 

Captain Vorjannis snorted loudly. “I’ve seen what those facilities cost! It’ll take fifty years for this one to pay for itself. Typical bureaucratic stupidity!”

 

“No doubt,” said Fetherbay. “I’ve never had the opportunity to try one of the simulators, myself, but as a veteran of both simulations and real combat, how would you rate them, Lieutenant?”

 

“Uh, well, they are pretty much indistinguishable from the real thing, sir,” said Alby.

 

“Really?” Fetherbay looked skeptical.

 

“Yes, sir. When the man next to you gets sliced in two by a plasma arc, the blood and entrails look and smell the same in the simulator as they do in real life.”

 

Everyone at the table was staring at Alby. Including Anny and Jer. Alby had told and re-told the story of his part of the battle on the planet Dounby during their training cruise a dozen times, but he’d never said anything about that! Fetherbay looked taken back. “Uh… well, it’s good to know we’ll be getting something useful! But in any case, they have a whole crew of technical boffins up there installing these things, but as far I know not a one of them has any combat experience. I’m going to want you to get involved with setting up the facility and getting it operational. If I’m going to be forced to rely on simulations, I want to be sure they are doing the job and not filling the men’s heads with computer-generated nonsense! Think you can do that for me, Vorsworth?”

 

“Yes, sir. It would be my pleasure,” said Alby with a smile. Anny was certain the smile was genuine. This would be right up Alby’s alley. He loved that sort of stuff and there was no denying he was good with simulator programming! She suppressed a smile of her own at the thought of the prank he had played on a rival company during their second year at the Academy.

 

“Good! You’ll be attached to my headquarters company during the assignment. Later on we can find something else for you to do. Lieutenant Naddel.” He looked at Jer.

 

“Sir?”

 

“You’ve had extra training in heavy weapons, correct?”

 

“Yes sir.”

 

“Then I believe there’s a post for you in 2nd Battalion, right, Anthony?” He looked at Major Waski.

 

“Yes sir,” replied Waski. “I can find a place for him in H Company; we’ve been short an officer for the anti-tank platoon since you ‘borrowed’ Janowittz and never gave him back.”

 

“Stop bitching, Anthony,” said Fetherbay with a smile. “Everyone’s short-handed and here I’ve given you a bright, shiny, new lieutenant. Don’t break him, God knows when we’ll get any more.”

 

“Yes sir. And thanks. Naddel, report to Captain Adronov in the morning.”

 

“Yes sir,” said Jer. He glanced at Anny and smiled, but she didn’t return it when she saw that Fetherbay was looking at her now.

 

“So, Lieutenant Payne, what should I do with you?”

 

“Sir?” Anny was suddenly tense. “I… I was hoping for an assignment with an infantry company.”

 

“Were you now? I see that you specialized in infantry tactics during your last year at the Academy. You like commanding infantry?”

 

“Yes sir. I commanded my cadet company for three years and, well, you know what I did with the 42nd.”

 

“Indeed. Your record is very impressive, but that creates certain… problems.”

 

“Sir?” Anny didn’t like where this seemed to be going—wherever that was.

 

“Well, completely leaving aside the fact that you’re the only woman in the entire Imperial forces, you also have more combat experience and hold a higher decoration than any officer in the entire regiment, except for our beloved Colonel, of course. And yet at the same time, despite all of that, you are also a wet-behind-the-ears shavetail, fresh out of the Academy. Plunking you down in the midst of a veteran infantry company might cause… friction.”

 

“Sir, I’m sure that I can fit in anywhere you…”

 

“It has been _suggested_ ,” said Fetherbay, putting strange emphasis on the last word, “that I find some spot for you on the regimental staff. Operations or Planning, Training, perhaps. Does any of that appeal to you, Lieutenant?”

 

Anny swallowed nervously. Damn , she hadn’t expected a grilling like this! She’d just expected to be assigned somewhere. What she said now might affect her entire future career! She glanced around at the others at the table and every eye was on her. “Sir… I’d be honored to serve the regiment in any capacity you think fit.” She forced the words out of her mouth, but they weren’t really true. She’d already let herself be talked out of applying for the naval track back at the Academy. She didn’t _want_ a staff job, dammit! But it wasn’t up to her…

 

“I read in your file that after you were wounded on Dounby, you spent the rest of your cruise working on the battalion staff. Did you enjoy that?”

 

After Dounby she’d been under virtual house arrest on the flagship. Did Fetherbay know that? “It… it was interesting work, sir. But I would have preferred to return to my troops.”

 

“But they didn’t let you.”

 

“No sir.”

 

“Bastards.” The side of Fetherbay’s mouth quirked up in a half-smile. Anny was so startled she couldn’t think of any reply. Fetherbay took a sip from his wine and put the glass back on the table. “I _could_ find a spot for you on the staff, but… Vorglanov here has been wheedling me for one of you folks from the moment we learned you were coming. Honestly, Alex, you’ve been like a kid asking to open his Winter Fair gifts early!” He smiled at the 1 st Battalion commander.

 

“Sorry, sir,” said Vorglanov, not smiling in return. “But Sergeant Milroy has been commanding 3rd platoon of C Company ever since you brevetted me to take the battalion and Vorstang had to take the company—almost two years, sir. He deserves to go to OCS—you know that, sir—and I just didn’t have anyone else to replace him—until now.”

 

“So you’d like to have Lieutenant Payne in your battalion?”

 

“Yes sir. Well, her or either of the other two, sir, I’m not particular.”

 

“The hell you’re not,” snorted Fetherbay. “But in any case… very well, she’s all yours, Alex. God help you.”

 

“Thank you, sir,” said Vorglanov. He turned his gaze on Anny. “Report to Lieutenant Vorstang, C Company, in the morning.”

 

“Yes sir!” said Anny, her face breaking into a smile. Her company back at the Academy had been C Company! A good omen?

 

The stewards cleared the table of the dinner dishes and set out coffee for everyone. The wine glasses were still there, of course, and they were never allowed to become empty. Fetherbay took another drink from his. Then he leaned back in his chair and smiled. “So, gentlemen, are you all satisfied? Happy with your assignments? Glad you’re part of the 61st?”

 

“Yes sir,” said Anny, Jer and Alby in unison.

 

“Good, good. But now it’s time for you to repay our hospitality.”

 

“Sir?” said Anny.

 

“Well, you see that here, up in the far north, we’re pretty isolated. The same ugly faces day after day, year after year. It gets pretty boring. And even when a new face arrives they usually can’t provide much entertainment. But you! Well! I’m sure you can provide quite a bit of entertainment!”

 

A chill went through Anny. What did he mean? Was he talking to all three of them or just her? Surely not just her! Not here in the regimental officers’ mess! She glanced at Jer and Alby, but they both seemed as confused—and as apprehensive—as her.

 

“I… I’m not sure I understand, sir.”

 

Fetherbay smiled. “It’s simple enough, Lieutenant: I want a story! I want an eyewitness account of the Battle of Dounby!”

 

 

* * *

 

 

The last light of the long summer day had vanished by the time they wove their way back to the BOQ and the stars were shining brightly through the trees. Anny had drunk far more than she should have, although not enough to get completely blasted. Jer and Alby staggered along next to her and somehow they had picked up Sven Estaban again.

 

“I think I like the 61st!” exclaimed Alby. It was about the tenth time he’d said that since they left the mess, but she had to agree with him. It had been a very pleasant evening. She and Alby had managed to give a reasonably coherent—and she hoped entertaining—account of the ‘battle’ that had been fought on the planet Dounby during their training cruise. She’d been able to skip over her insubordination, the real reason behind the whole mess, and the bloodier moments during the fighting without ruining the story. She’d made sure that Zac Karal’s sacrifice to save her got its full due. Colonel Fetherbay and the others had seemed very appreciative.

 

“It’s a good outfit,” said Estaban.

 

They stumbled into the building. Alby started up the steps, but Anny hung back with Jer. Estaban took a step up and then looked back at her with a confused and disappointed expression on his face. Alby stopped, looked back and grinned. He came back down and took Estaban by the arm. “Come on, Sven, give them some room.”

 

“Oh, it’s like that, is it?” said Estaban, frowning.

 

“Yeah, it’s like that. Now come on.”

 

“Damn. Knew I couldn’t be that lucky. Oh well…” He turned and followed Alby up the steps.

 

“So much for keeping it secret,” said Anny, smiling at Jer.

 

“Probably just as well,” said Jer, gently pulling her against him. “If everyone thought you were unattached, you’d have ‘em lined up outside your door!”

 

“So instead I’m lined up outside your door.”

 

“Wanna come in for a while?”

 

She’d really like that, but she shook her head. “Long day. Big day tomorrow. And I’m ready to pass out. And if I did, then—heavens!—you might take advantage of me!” They both laughed and then she leaned closer and kissed him. “See you in th’ mornin’, Luv.”

 

He pulled her even closer and kissed her back. “Right. Love you.”

 

They parted and she made her way up to her room. Alby still had his door open and she was amused that he stuck his head out until she went into her own room and shut the door behind her. After a moment she locked it.

 

She made sure her alarm was set and then peeled off her clothes except for her underwear, turned off the lights and crawled into the bed.

 

_Yeah, I think I like the 61 st!_

 

 

**Chapter 2**

 

 **J** er Naddel groaned as the alarm woke him. The hours of sleep had been far too meager and the wine list at dinner the previous evening far too generous. A nasty spike of pain stabbed through his head as he pushed himself upright. He groaned again as he switched on the light and rummaged through his footlocker to find some headache pills. The first faint light of dawn was creeping in the window. Barrayar’s axial tilt made for short nights this far north during the summer months. Too damn short, even allowing for Barrayar’s much longer day than Konarr’s.

 

He found the pills, swallowed one, and then staggered into the bathroom. He shared a bathroom with whoever was in the room next door, but he didn’t know who that was. The other door was closed. He wondered if he could convince the other occupant to switch rooms with Anny. Now _that_ would be convenient! He used the toilet, smeared depilatory cream on his face, and entered the shower. As he washed, he mused on how efficient it would be for the two of them to shower together…

 

He still could hardly believe they were lovers. He’d fallen _in_ love with Anny back in their second year at the Academy. Well, maybe earlier than that… But while they’d been close friends and clearly felt some affection for each other, she—and he—had never allowed more than that to show. It was against the regulations to fall in love and Anny was under such a microscope as the first woman to ever attend the Barrayaran Imperial Service Academy that she didn’t dare even appear to be breaking the rules. But they had broken the rules and they had fallen in love and they had admitted it to each other in their senior year. They hadn’t actually done anything except for a few brief hugs and kisses until the night of graduation. Since then… well, since then things had been amazing. Anny was so utterly by-the-book when she was on duty, so completely under control that it had come as a surprise at just how _out_ of control she became in bed. Some sort of emotional safety valve perhaps? Whatever. It didn’t matter. Anny was the strongest, the bravest person Jer had ever met. The things she’d had to overcome to make it through the Academy would have crushed most people—they would have crushed him! If he could provide the emotional support she needed, he was more than willing to do that. Willing and ready. _Maybe tonight…_

“I say, old man, are you going to hog the shower all morning?”

 

Jer jumped at the sudden voice at his elbow, just on the other side of the shower curtain. He hastily shut off the water and stuck his head around the curtain. A man was standing there wearing nothing but striped pajama bottoms. “Naddel, is it?” he asked.

 

“Uh, yeah…”

 

“Vorquinz, here, A Company. Pleasure to make your acquaintance. Saw you at dinner last night, of course, but didn’t get a chance to say hello. By the by, as senior I get first crack at the shower in the morning. 0530 on the dot. Try to remember, will you?” He turned away and went over to the sink. Jer grabbed a towel and began drying himself.

 

“Sorry about that, I didn’t know.”

 

“I’ll let it pass this time.”

 

Jer wasn’t sure if the man was joking, decided he wasn’t. “Actually I normally shower before I go to bed anyway,” he said.

 

“That would work if you don’t leave the place a mess.”

 

“I’ll try not to.”

 

“Good man.” Vorquinz finished putting on his depilatory cream—except on his large mustache—dropped his pajamas and stepped into the shower. “I don’t suppose you have a man of your own yet. Hendly, there has coffee if you want a cup.” The water turned on and the conversation ended. Jer looked through the door into Vorquinz’s room and saw an enlisted man in there puttering around. A pot of coffee sat on a tray. His stomach was still a little queasy from the previous night and Jer decided he could wait until breakfast.

 

Jer finished drying himself and (neatly) hung up his towel. He went back into his own room and dressed quickly in a set of black fatigues. The officers he’d seen during the tour yesterday had been wearing blacks and he hoped that would be the proper uniform when he joined his company. The thought of that sent a jolt of excitement and anxiety through him. What would H Company be like? As a weapons company it would be more technically oriented than a standard ‘rifle’ company. The commander wasn’t Vor. What was he like? Too many unknowns…

 

He had just finished dressing when reveille sounded on the base. He’d deliberately gotten up early to avoid having to rush. He clicked his computer pad into the holder on his belt, grabbed his cap and stepped out into the hallway. Anny, Alby—and Estaban—were just coming down the steps.

 

“Morning!” said all four, more or less simultaneously. They went out the doors and saw swarms of troopers spilling out of their barracks and falling into formation for morning roll call. The sun was just peeping over the eastern ridge. Jer was glad that the NCOs handled roll calls. He remembered when it was _his_ task as the first sergeant for C Company.

 

“What do you do when there’s three meters of snow on the ground in the winter?” asked Alby, his question directed at Estaban.

 

“Well, as you can imagine, we’ve got some first rate snow removal equipment here—plus a few thousand pairs of arms with strong backs attached to them. But if the conditions are really severe they just do it in the barracks.”

 

“That’s the C Company barracks over there, isn’t it?” asked Anny, pointing at one of the buildings.

 

“Yup. Right next to B Company. We’ll be neighbors.” He smiled at Anny. She didn’t reply and they headed for the main mess hall. Despite the separate entrance for officers they wanted to beat the mad rush that would doubtlessly ensue once the men were dismissed from roll call.

 

A few other officers had arrived ahead of them, but they were still among the first. It was a standard mess hall arrangement and they grabbed trays and loaded them with food and coffee and then found a table. “So, your first day with the regiment,” said Estaban. “Excited?”

 

“Yeah,” said Alby. Jer and Anny nodded. “Hard to believe that this is the real thing after four years preparing for it.”

 

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” said Estaban. “I felt the same way when I got here, God, it’s four years now. But it’s a good group of people. I’m sure you’ll do fine.” They ate in silence for a bit and then Estaban looked at Anny and then at Jer. “So… uh… how did the two of you … _manage_ at the Academy. Must have been a tad awkward, wasn’t it?”

 

“More than awkward,” said Jer. “Damn near impossible.”

 

“And against regulation, Mister Estaban,” said Anny frostily. “Therefore, in answer to your question: we _didn’t_ manage.”

 

Estaban frowned and then his eyebrows shot up and he smiled. “Ah! So this is something recent, is it? Perhaps there’s hope for me yet!”

 

“You don’t give up, do you?” said Alby, laughing. “But you might as well, Sven! You’d have better luck getting a date with the Empress than trying to pry these two apart!”

 

“Really.” He didn’t look convinced.

 

“Yeah, really,” said Jer.

 

“Really, really,” added Anny.

 

“Pity. Well, you can’t blame me for trying.”

 

“No,” said Anny with a small smile. “But only up to a point. And I think that point has been reached. Okay?”

 

“Fine! Fine! No offense intended.”

 

“And none taken. Let’s keep it that way.”

 

“Message received, ma’am!” said Estaban a bit testily and waving his hand as if saluting. “You’re a lucky man, Naddel.”

 

“That I am, that I am,” said Jer smugly and smiling at Anny. She smiled back and the warmth matched the ray of sunshine that was now falling on his back through the window.

 

“And Sven?” said Anny.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“If any of your friends happen to ask, could you let them know the score? Might save us some… awkwardness.”

 

“Oh. Sure, sure. It’d be my pleasure.” The look on his face indicated that he might, in fact, take some pleasure in dashing the hopes of fellow officers.

 

“Thanks, we appreciate it.”

 

They finished eating and Jer nearly picked up his tray to return it to the kitchen until he noticed that everyone else was just leaving theirs on the table. Apparently they would be retrieved by the enlistedmen working here. They went outside and Jer checked the time. “Five minutes until assembly.” He took a deep breath. “Well, I guess I better go meet my boss.”

 

“Yeah, me, too,” said Anny. She gently punched his shoulder. “Good luck. You, too, Alby. If I don’t see you at lunch, I’ll see you at dress parade tonight.”

 

“Right-O. Good luck to you, too.” Jer winked at her and then headed for the H Company barracks.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Anny watched Jer walk off and then she turned and headed toward the building where C Company was housed. Alby said good-bye and trotted off to regimental headquarters. Estaban stayed with her and initially she was a bit annoyed, but since B Company was right next to C Company she could hardly protest since they both had to go the same way. Estaban peeled off at his company’s barracks, giving her a friendly wave, and Anny walked another hundred meters and found herself standing outside a three-story building labeled ‘C Company’ with a large sign over the door.

 

_Well, this is it._

 

The barracks were all built with the offices and common space on the ground floor while the bunks of the enlistedmen were upstairs. She took a deep breath and went through the door. As she’d expected, the main company office was the first room she came to. She went inside and saw several officers standing there and a couple of corporals sitting at desks working at comconsoles. One of the officers, though wearing lieutenant’s tabs, had the small gold pips on his collar that denoted a company commander. Vorstang, she assumed. She stepped up next to him and when he turned in her direction, she saluted. “Lieutenant Payne reporting for duty, sir.”

 

Vorstang was a bit taller than her, stocky, although certainly not fat, maybe ten years older and he had blond hair and sharp blue eyes. Those eyes were suddenly boring holes right through her. He slowly returned her salute. “Ah yes, Payne. I was informed last night that you’d be joining us.” She smiled, waiting for some word of welcome, or perhaps a handshake, but neither was forthcoming. A moment later she heard a bugler sounding assembly outside. This was followed by a rush of pounding feet that actually made the building tremble slightly. “Well, we better get out there, eh?” Vorstang walked past her and out the door and she scrambled to catch up.

 

Each of the company barracks buildings had a clear space in front of it for the company to form up. The men were quickly assembling in their ranks. Anny noticed they were in their PT—physical training—gear. She assumed that some order had been issued for that. The officers and senior NCOs were all in black fatigues, so they’d guessed right about that anyway.

 

Each platoon was in its own location with the NCOs and commanding officer out in front. Last night the battalion commander had said something about her taking over for the sergeant who had been commanding 3rd Platoon, but she had no idea if Vorstang would actually want her to command that platoon or if he was planning to shuffle things around. In any case she could see the sergeant out in front of 3rd Platoon and she certainly wasn’t going to try and push him aside! She went over to Vorstang. “Where would you like me, sir?”

 

“What? Oh, just stay right here for the moment.”

 

“Yes sir.”

 

The last few men found their spots and the company was called to attention. After a few moments the first sergeant, a man named Nikolaidis if the roster she’d studied just before breakfast was accurate, came up and saluted Vorstang and reported that the company was formed.

 

“Very good, Sergeant,” said Vorstang. He stepped forward and looked over his company. “Morning everyone,” he said.

 

_“Good morning, sir!”_

Vorstang hadn’t spoken loudly, but the whole company shouted back in reply.

 

“We’ve got a routine day ahead of us. PT this morning, a full unarmored kit inspection at 1400 and, of course dress parade at 1700. However, I do have two pieces of news to pass along. The first is bittersweet. Some time in the coming days we’ll be saying good-bye to Sergeant Milroy. You all know what a fine job he’s done leading 3rd Platoon and as incredible as it might seem, the higher-ups have actually noticed!” This brought a small chuckle from the men. “Milroy will be heading off to OCS where they will attempt to make a gentleman out of him. He probably considers this a fate worse than death, but we all live to serve the Imperium and he will go and he will do us proud, I’m sure. We can hope that he will return to us, but one never knows. In any event, we all wish him godspeed.” This brought a murmur of assent and then someone called for three cheers for Sergeant Milroy and this was given with enthusiasm. Anny could see the sergeant in front of his platoon, blushing in the morning sun.

 

“The other bit of news,” continued Vorstang, “is the reason why Sergeant Milroy is going to be able to leave us. We have a new officer joining the company today.” He gestured toward Anny. “This is Lieutenant Payne. She will be taking over for Milroy when he leaves. I’m sure you’ll give her the same respect and cooperation as you did the Sergeant.”

 

The men just stared at her, not making a sound. Some of their eyes appeared quite wide. Anny stared back at them. _Okay, so I’ll have 3 rd Platoon. Taking over for a popular predecessor. This could be a challenge._ She’d already noticed that the commanders of 2nd Platoon and the weapons platoon were ensigns who she outranked. There might be some resentment there, too. She was going to have her work cut out for her.

 

“All right, I think that’s all for now,” said Vorstang. “Dahlberg, Vorgard, Zolek, Milroy, if you’ll meet me inside, Payne, you have the company.”

 

“Sir?” said Anny in surprise.

 

“Carry on, Lieutenant.” Vorstang turned away and walked back toward the barracks. The four platoon commanders moved to join him.

 

_Okay…_

 

The officers disappeared inside and the whole company was staring at her. ‘ _Always at least_ appear _to know what you’re doing.’_ Commodore Koudelka had taught her that before she ever set foot at Academy. The advice had served her well there and there was no reason it wouldn’t work here.

 

“First Sergeant Nikolaidis.”

 

“Uh… sir?” The First Sergeant looked at her in surprise. Perhaps he hadn’t expected her to know his name. _Preparation! Preparation!_ She’d only survived at the Academy by being prepared. She wasn’t about to change now.

 

“Move them out, First Sergeant.”

 

“Yes sir.” He nodded at her and turned to face the men. “Company! Right-face! Forward, double quick—march!” The men started off at a brisk trot and Anny trotted along with them. She suspected they were headed for one of the big fields where she’d seen men doing PT yesterday, but she wasn’t sure if C Company had a specific spot assigned to it. _If you aren’t sure of the answer, try to delegate the job to someone who does._ Another lesson from the Commodore.

 

They left the barracks area and moved down the road. All the other companies seemed to be headed the same way. They reached a big, open field—not the same one where they’d done dress parade yesterday—and each company found a spot. Anny watched as Nikolaidis had the company open ranks and intervals to give the men room for the calisthenics and then put them to work, supervised by the platoon sergeants. Anny stood close to Nikolaidis and they both watched.

 

“First Sergeant?” she said after a while.

 

“Sir?”

 

“I’m guessing that Sergeant Milroy is quite popular with his men. True?”

 

“Yes sir. He’s a good man. Way too smart to stay a sergeant. He’ll make a fine officer. But the boys are gonna to miss him.”

 

“Do you think they are going to have a problem with me taking over for him? I could understand some of them being… resentful.”

 

She could feel him staring at her, but she kept her eyes fixed on the exercising men. He took a while to answer. “There might be a few, sir. But if any of them give you a problem…”

 

“If any of them do I’m sure I can handle them, First Sergeant. I’ve been handling hardheads for four years.”

 

“If you say so, sir.”

 

Now she did look at him and there was a slightly skeptical look on his face. She stared at him until he looked away. “What’s the usual schedule for this?”

 

“An hour of the exercises and then a road march, sir. We just take the perimeter road and circle the base a couple of times. One circuit is about nine klicks so we’ll do two or three times around.”

 

“Is it two or three times around?”

 

“Uh, depends on the officer in command, the weather, and what else the boys are gonna be doing that day.”

 

“Well, it’s a beautiful day and a full kit inspection isn’t very grueling. So I guess it’s up to me, isn’t it, First Sergeant?”

 

“It would be up to you in any case, sir.”

 

“Indeed it would. Three then, I think.”

 

“Yes sir.”

 

For the next hour Anny quizzed him about the way things were run in C Company. Every outfit had its own little idiosyncrasies and Anny wanted to know about as many of them as possible before she made some silly mistake. Nikolaidis seemed surprise at the grilling, but Anny learned a lot just in that short time. Finally, after the men were allowed to rest for ten minutes, they were called back into formation. Nikolaidis moved to give the command to begin the march, but Anny stepped up instead.

 

“Attention-Company! Right-face! Forward, double quick-march!” she bellowed. At the Academy she’d developed her ‘command voice’. Her voice was higher-pitched than most men’s, but it carried nicely and a few men looked at her in surprise that she could produce a noise like that.

 

And they were off. Twenty-seven kilometers in about four hours was not an especially grueling pace for men in good condition and these men were in good condition and not burdened with any gear. Once on the perimeter road Anny noticed that there were several places where drinking water was available and she made sure that the five-minute break they got each hour was at one of those spots. The day was turning warm and she felt that depriving the men of water was a needless cruelty for an ordinary exercise like this. Also she needed the water herself. She was discovering, to her dismay, that the last three months without any serious exercise had left her a bit out of shape. She had been in superb shape when she’d left on the training cruise, but between spending two months on the convoy flagship and the last month back at the Academy getting ready for graduation, she’d let her regular exercise regimen lapse. Still, she could handle this. She’d have to ask if there was an exercise room for the officers. There must be…

 

Many of the men were gawking at her and during the breaks she often heard laughs when her back was turned that suddenly cut off when she looked. But that was normal and didn’t bother her.

 

One time around, two times around. They had nearly completed the third circuit and it was about 1115. She halted the company and let the men rest. Plenty of time to get them back to the barracks, shower, and get their noon chow. The full-kit inspection wasn’t until 1400 so they’d have time to get ready for that. Good. She knew that some officers deliberately cut the timing of activities close to make life as difficult as possible for their troops under the theory that it would make them tougher. Commodore Koudelka had told her that the troops referred to that sort of thing as ‘chickenshit’ and all it did was make them resent the officer. So no chickenshit here.

 

The men were called back into ranks and she ordered the company’s second sergeant to get them moving. As they trotted past her she turned to ask Nikolaidis a question about the coming inspection. “First Sergeant, when we form up for the inspection, do you usually…” _EEEP!_ She froze.

 

“Sir?” said Nikolaidis in confusion.

 

One of the passing soldiers had just pinched her on the ass.

 

A dozen thoughts flashed through her mind in an instant.

 

_Did I imagine that? No I didn’t! Oh Shit! Do I ignore it? Make a scene? Shit! Shit! Son of a…_

“Company- _HALT!_ ”

 

Her order was so loud and so sudden that some of the men actually bumped into each other as the company came to a ragged stop. Many heads turned in her direction.

 

“Sir?” asked Nikolaidis again, his eyes very wide. Clearly he hadn’t seen what had happened.

 

She didn’t answer. Instead, she turned and looked up the column toward the head of the company. _How many seconds passed before I halted them? Four, five at the most. A hundred and twenty paces to the minute, eighty centimeter steps, that would put the culprit right about… there!_ Someone in 3 rd Platoon. Oh yeah, that would figure. But she couldn’t be exactly sure which man. It could be that one, or the man just ahead of him. Which one?

 

_It doesn’t matter._

 

She slowly walked up to the man she suspected. “Company-front!” Everyone turned to face her. She stared at them, they stared at her. The man in front of her was looking a bit pale. Strange for a man who’d been out running in the sun for three hours. The man behind him appeared to be stifling a laugh. _Bingo._

 

“Well!” she said loudly while stepping back so everyone could see her. “We haven’t really had a chance to get to know each other. I can see that you are all in fine shape. But all the time I was training to become an assault trooper I kept getting told about how good they were at close combat. During the time I spent with the 42nd I discovered that they took their close combat drill very seriously. I’m wondering if the 61st feels the same way.” She took a deep breath. She was taking a real risk here. “But there’s really only one way to find that out isn’t there? We’ve got a few spare minutes and I was wondering if one of you boys might go a few throws with me? A short, unscheduled close-combat drill. Any takers?” Before anyone could answer, she moved back in front of the pale trooper. She looked at the name stenciled on his t-shirt. “How about you, Private… ah… Kerbeck? You look like a man who knows how to use his hands.” Several snorts of laughter came from the rear rank. “Come on, you’re not afraid are you?” The man’s face began to redden.

 

“Lieutenant Payne,” said First Sergeant Nikolaidis uncertainly. “What are you…?”

 

“I just want to see what your men are made of. So how about it, Kerbeck? Can you show me what you’re made of?”

 

The man was looking annoyed now and he stepped out of the ranks. “I reckon I can… sir.”

 

“Good! Right over here should do. Come on.” She moved back a dozen paces, tossed her cap on the ground behind her and went into a crouch. Kerbeck looked nervously between her and Nikolaidis. The First Sergeant just shrugged in confusion.

 

Anny launched herself forward.

 

Kerbeck wasn’t even remotely ready and in an instant he was flying through the air to land flat on his back. A loud _oof!_ came out of him. He rolled over and stared at her in astonishment. “Sorry,” said Anny casually. “Guess I caught you by surprise, huh? Wanna try that again?”

 

The man scrambled to his feet and tried to get into a defensive stance, but Anny was on him in a heartbeat and he went flying again. “Well!” exclaimed Anny, scratching her head. “Maybe I heard wrong.” She half-turned to face Nikolaidis. “It looks like we’ve got some work to do here…” Out of the corner of her eye she saw Kerbeck on his feet and charging her. She dodged aside and slammed a kick into his ribs—just hard enough to send him sprawling again, but not hard enough to break anything.

 

“At least they seem to have spirit, First Sergeant, hopefully with some training they can…” Kerbeck came at her again and again he landed heavily on the ground. In passing he had managed to punch Anny solidly in the side and she forced herself not to wince. “Okay, that was a bit better! There may be hope for you yet, Private Kerbeck.”

 

The man staggered to his feet and came at her again. But he was stunned and his fury was in control of him. Anny had never liked close-combat training, but she’d forced herself to learn it and she was really quite good. Drou Koudelka and Sergeant Major Szytko had seen to that. Kerbeck probably wasn’t all that bad, but he was no match for her—at least not in his present condition. Anny pummeled him for a good five minutes until he was battered and bloody and gasping for air on the ground.

 

“Lieutenant Payne!” said Nikolaidis loudly.

 

“Yes?” She turned and stared him in the eyes and didn’t blink.

 

“You… uh… we … we’re gonna be late for chow.”

 

“Heavens! You’re right! And that won’t do! We’re all hungry. If a few of you men will help Private Kerbeck back into ranks we can get going.” Two men came forward and helped their buddy up. They had very strange expressions on their faces. Anny retrieved her cap and the company got moving again and she had Nikolaidis take them straight back to the barracks and dismissed them. They moved at the normal quick-time pace instead of double-quick and Anny took advantage of that to catch her breath and stop her trembling. She hadn’t enjoyed that at all. She really hoped she’d done the right thing.

 

After the company was dismissed she checked in at the company office, but Vorstang wasn’t there and the duty sergeant didn’t have any additional orders for her so she headed back to her quarters to get showered before lunch. As she peeled off her sweat-soaked fatigues, she groaned. Despite her easy win over Kerbeck he had managed to land a few blows and she was going to be black and blue in the morning. She took a pain pill and showered and then put on her undress greens. The First Sergeant had told her that the officers typically wore their greens for an inspection.

 

In the mess hall she ran into Jer and Estaban. There was no sign of Alby. “So, how’d it go?” asked Sven as they found a table.

 

“Okay,” said Jer. “Just PT this morning—as you know. We’ll really get down to things this afternoon: we’re having an inspection at the armory. Gonna haul out all the heavy equipment and give it a going over. How about you, Anny?”

 

“Oh, pretty much the same,” she replied. “Full kit inspection this afternoon.” She had no intention of mentioning the other incident with Estaban listening. She wasn’t entirely sure how much trouble she or Private Kerbeck could get into over it.

 

They chatted over their food for a bit and Estaban mentioned that he’d heard that the following month would see all the reservists from the 139th pouring in and that there would be a full-scale exercise involving the whole brigade. “Sounds like fun,” he said.

 

“Where will they be holding it?” asked Anny.

 

“That I didn’t hear. But I imagine it will either be up in the mountains or on the coastal plain on the other side of them. Desolate area up there, hardly any people at all. Less property damage that way.” He grinned.

 

Just as they were getting up, Lieutenant Vorstang came by. He had an odd expression on his face. “Everything go all right this morning, Payne?” he asked.

 

“Yes sir. The men look to be in fine condition. Actually, I was wondering if there’s a gymnasium for the officers, sir? I need to keep myself in shape.”

 

“What? Oh, right. Yes, we have a facility attached to the regimental mess building.” He paused and looked at her closely. “So you have nothing else to report from this morning?”

 

“Sir? No sir, it seemed completely routine.”

 

“I… see. Very well, carry on.”

 

“Yes sir.” Vorstang moved off but looked back over his shoulder at her.

 

“What was that all about?” asked Jer.

 

“Tell you about it later,” she said quietly.

 

The full unarmored kit inspection was also completely routine. Vorstang had Anny accompany Sergeant Milroy as he inspected 3rd Platoon. They shook hands, but Milroy was eying her suspiciously. Was he afraid that she was going to try and steal his platoon? He’d be leaving soon anyway. Was he angry that she’d beat up one of his men? She needed to talk to him, but this wasn’t the place.

 

The men were drawn up in the same area as they used to assemble in the morning. Each man was carrying a full set of field gear, weapons, equipment and supplies. The 61st was an assault regiment which meant that they normally went into combat wearing the impressive and deadly suits of powered battle armor, but they also had to be able to operate like normal infantry if the situation demanded it. A full kit weighed about 50 kilos and included an incredible amount of stuff. The company took intervals and then each man laid out all his gear on the ground in front of him, every item having an exact spot per the regulations.

 

She and Milroy and the platoon sergeant, a man named Kay, then proceeded from man to man, checking his gear, making comments or suggestions or corrections as necessary. Kay held a computer pad for noting any infractions. Anny had already started memorizing the names and faces of the men in what would soon be her platoon, but now she took the opportunity to look them over in the flesh. The photos in their records often looked different than the real thing. When they got to Private Kerbeck, she saw that he had a few spectacular bruises on his face. She didn’t think she’d hit him _that_ hard in the face… He dropped his eyes when he saw her looking at him. But Milroy inspected his gear without comment and passed on to the next man.

 

As they proceeded, she noticed that while Milroy only closely checked some of the gear, seemingly at random, he opened each and every first aid kit and checked the contents thoroughly. After a bit he spoke to Anny quietly. “We’ve got standing orders from the Colonel to check the first aid kits. About a year ago we discovered that there was a group of troopers—in the 139th—that were stealing or buying the drugs out of the kits and selling them to a black market ring in the town. It was quite a scandal. So now we have to check. And check closely: they were putting fake ampoules back into the kits so they wouldn’t be missed.”

 

“Until they needed them in combat,” said Anny, not trying to hide her distaste.

 

“Yeah. Too damn few combat vets left in the regiment to pass that lesson along. Still, there hasn’t been an incident in a long time so maybe the message is getting through.”

 

Aside from Anny, Milroy and Kay, there were forty other men in the platoon so it took nearly two hours to complete the inspection. Anny was pleased to note that it had been done properly, no shortcuts. Milroy was a good commander and she hoped she’d have a chance to sit down with him and really discuss the platoon in detail—and hopefully settle whatever issue lay between them. The fact that he wasn’t an officer made that a little more difficult. He couldn’t meet her in the regimental mess or in the BOQ. She’d have to arrange some place in the barracks offices, she supposed.

 

They finished up about 1600 so they had an hour until dress parade. Milroy disappeared into the barracks with the troops before she could suggest a meeting, so Anny headed back to her quarters to get ready for the parade. She checked at Jer’s door, but it was locked. So he wasn’t back yet. Neither was Alby. As she walked down the hall toward her own room, she saw that the door was standing open. What…?

 

Remembering an unpleasant incident in her first year at the Academy, she cautiously approached and peered in. There was a man inside and he appeared to be polishing her boots. _Ah! My dogrobber!_ No one had mentioned he’d be coming today. She stepped into the room and cleared her throat. The man looked up, saw her, and sprang to his feet.

 

“Ah, Lieutenant Payne? I’m Lance Corporal Jacowitz. I’ve been assigned t’you.”

 

 _Lance Corporal?_ That wasn’t a standard rank in the Barrayaran military. But Anny recalled that some of the long-established regiments clung to some of the old traditions. When she was with the 42 nd their color sergeant was referred to as the _bannerman_. She supposed that lance corporal was a rank shoehorned in between private and corporal. A sort of senior-private position. And Jacowitz certainly qualified as senior. He looked to be in his fifties and a glance at the hashmarks on his sleeve told Anny that he’d been in the service for thirty-six years. He was a good ten centimeters shorter than her and slightly stooped. Gray-haired, where he had any hair—he was pretty much bald on top. He had prominent cheekbones and a bulbous nose that looked rather pink compared to the rest of his face which was wrinkled and weather-beaten.

 

“I’m pleased to meet you, Lance Corporal,” said Anny, coming forward and offering her hand. “I take it that you’re going to be working for me?”

 

He took her hand and shook it. “Yes, ma’am, if you’ll have me.”

 

Anny hesitated. Did she really want a personal servant? She’d never had anything like that before—well, when she’d stayed at Vorkosigan House she’d had more servants than she could shake a stick at, but that didn’t really count. But to have someone serving her personally felt just sort of… awkward. On the other hand, did she really want to have to waste valuable time doing laundry, shining boots and making her bed? That was the whole reason officers were allowed to have servants: they had better things to do with their time than all the routine stuff that they’d learned so well at the Academy. “Glad to have you, Lance Corporal,” she said. “Uh, I’m new at this, so forgive my ignorance. How does this all work? You have regular duties, too, don’t you? And I’m expected to pay you, right?”

 

“Yes, ma’am, I do various jobs at battalion HQ, so I can only spare you a coupla hours a day. As for th’pay, that just comes right outta your pay. You hafta sign a form at HQ and then it’s automatic.”

 

“I see.” He hadn’t mentioned how much…

 

“But…” Jacowitz hesitated and his face reddened. “Seein’ as how you’re a woman I’m thinking that we’re gonna hafta work out a system so you keep your privacy, if you get my meaning.”

 

“Yes, I suppose so.”

 

“Normally, it don’t matter if I barge in on one of the young gentlemen when he’s in the altogether, but I wouldn’t wanna do that with you, ma’am. Shouldn’t really be alone with you neither—that’s why I left the door open.”

 

Anny forced herself not to laugh. “Maybe I should get one of those little ‘do not disturb’ signs like they have at hotels and hang it on the doorknob.”

 

“That could work,” said Jacowitz brightly. “I’ll see about having one made, ma’am.” Anny choked. She’d been joking.

 

“Uh, I don’t think we really need to do that.” She could just imagine the jokes that would create among the other officers! “We’ll just have to work out a schedule so we don’t have any… problems.”

 

“All right, if you say so, ma’am.” Jacowitz looked disappointed. “Just don’t want to do anything improper. M’wife’s gonna be upset enough as it is when she hears who I’m workin’ for.”

 

“You’re married?”

 

“Oh yes, ma’am! Polly an’ I have been married twenty-five years last month. Fine woman, but a tad jealous if you take my meanin’, ma’am.”

 

“I see. Well we won’t do anything to arouse her suspicions then will we?” She grinned and he smiled back. “Oh, and the proper form of address for me is ‘sir’, Lance Corporal.”

 

“Really, ma—uh, sir?”

 

“Yes. Saves confusion.”

 

“If you say so… sir.” The man didn’t look convinced. “An’ you can just call me ‘Jac’, everyone else does. Uh, I’ve laid out your things for the dress parade.” He gestured to her bed where her dress greens were, indeed, all laid out for her. She glanced at them and then stopped and looked closer. “You were missin’ a few things, sir. The Colonel is a real stickler for everyone bein’ properly dressed. I got your record and saw you were entitled to a few more things than you had so I went down to the PX and got ‘em.”

 

On her collar, on top of the red lieutenant’s tabs, were a brass ‘61’ on one side and ‘VG’ on the other side. The 42nd wore similar items, but they didn’t hand them out routinely. Apparently the 61st did things differently. And on the chest of the tunic, on the opposite side from her medals two new items had been added. There was an Infantry Combat Badge and an Assault Landing Badge with a single tiny star indicating a combat drop under fire. She realized that under the regulations she was entitled to wear them, but she’d never even thought about it before. Along with her other medals it made quite a display for a wet-behind-the-ears lieutenant.

 

“Thank you, Jac, that was very thoughtful. But you say the ‘Colonel’ is a stickler. Is that Colonel Vortaglia, or Lieutenant Colonel Fetherbay?”

 

“Uh, well, both of ‘em, sir. But it was Fetherbay who told me t’see to it.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yes, sir. A place for everything and everything in its place, that’s the way he feels about things.”

 

“And is that how you feel about things, Jac?”

 

“Pretty much, sir. Makes things easier.”

 

“So how do you feel about me being here? A lot of people have told me that I’m something that’s definitely _out_ of place. Do you have a problem with it?”

 

Jacowitz looked startled. “Uh… well, sir, I’ll admit that it does take some gettin’ used to. But then,” he gestured to the medals on her tunic, “unless they’ve started handing those things out with the ration packs, it’s kinda hard saying that you’re outta place here. Sir.”

 

They looked each other in the eye for a long moment and then Anny nodded. “Well all right then. I guess I better get changed for dress parade.”

 

“Yes sir,” said Jacowitz. “Will you be needing me for anything more today?”

 

“I don’t think so.”

 

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow, sir. Oh, what time do you normally get up, sir? I can be here with coffee ready if you like.”

 

“Oh, no need for that, Jac. I don’t usually take my first cup until breakfast. But thanks anyway.”

 

“Very good, sir. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Jacowitz bowed himself out and shut the door behind him. Anny let out a long sigh.

 

 _Well, that could have gone a lot worse. I guess this can work._ She went about changing into her dress greens, but she couldn’t get Jacowitz’s statement about Fetherbay telling him to get all her decorations in place. Why would the acting regimental commander worry about something like that? Was he sending some message? And if so, to who?

 

As she was setting her cap in place she noticed a small flimsy lying on top of her dresser. She took it and saw that it was a receipt from the PX for the two new badges and the collar brass on her tunic. Jacowitz had put her name down and the price would be charged to her. It wasn’t a huge amount, but if Jac was going to be spending her money on things she needed to know about it. She supposed she better go and see the payroll officer tomorrow and find out how much she was paying him, too. A lieutenant’s salary wouldn’t stretch very far.

 

She bumped into Alby and Jer as she headed out of the building and they compared notes during the short walk to the barracks area. She noted that both had the collar brass and that Alby had the same two extra badges she was wearing. “So, got your own dogrobbers, eh?” she quipped.

 

“Yeah,” said Alby. “An antique just like we have at Vorsworth House. I feel right at home.” They all laughed. The servants at Alby’s home were all in their sixties or seventies.

 

They didn’t have time to say any more as they reached the barracks area. A bugler was sounding assembly and the troops were erupting from the buildings. “See you guys at dinner,” she said and they parted. Anny went over to where C Company was forming up. Her post would be in the rear of 3rd Platoon with the file closers. There was an awkward moment when she met Sergeant Milroy there. She outranked him, but he was the platoon commander. She settled the matter by taking a spot a few paces to the left of where the platoon commander should stand. Milroy nodded to her and took his position.

 

“I need to talk to you after the parade, Lieutenant,” he said quietly.

 

“That would be good,” she replied.

 

Dress parade was a bit different from the previous evening. Anny’s viewpoint was different, of course, with her at first behind the line of troops and then later out in front with all the other company officers. With two battalions present and Colonel Fetherbay there, it was larger and had an extra step thrown in where the company first sergeants reported to the battalion adjutants who then reported to the regimental adjutant who then reported to Fetherbay. But it all went off splendidly. Fetherbay didn’t have any special orders nor any comments to the officers as they wrapped up. The parade was dismissed and the troops began to disperse.

 

Except for the 3rd platoon of C Company.

 

“Lieutenant Payne?” said Milroy. “Could you come over here?” He gestured to where the platoon was waiting.

 

“Certainly, Sergeant,” said Anny trying to sound a lot more confident than she felt. What was this about? She followed him over to the men.

 

“Lieutenant? Private Kerbeck has something to say to you.”

 

Anny’s eyebrows shot up as the man she’d beaten up that morning came forward, looking embarrassed and glancing back at his mates. He came up to her and saluted. “Lieutenant Payne? I want to… I wanted to apologize for what I did. I’m really sorry and it won’t happen again.” He glanced at Milroy with an ‘okay-I-did-it-can-I-go-now?’ expression on his face. Milroy, however said nothing and his face was frozen.

 

Anny stared at Kerbeck until he was really sweating. “Well,” she said finally, “thank you Private, I accept your apology and I’m willing to consider the matter closed.” Kerbeck looked relieved.

 

“Thank you, sir. It was really stupid of me and…”

 

“Lieutenant Payne would be quite justified in pressing charges against you, Kerbeck,” said Milroy with a note of menace in his voice. “You could have disgraced the whole platoon.” Kerbeck looked pale again.

 

“I could have pressed charges,” said Anny, “but I hoped that the… uh… measures I took would get the message across better. It would appear that I was right. And I checked Private Kerbeck’s record later, Sergeant, and I see that he’s a good man. Just a tad too exuberant at times.” This produced a laugh from the rest of the platoon.

 

“Thank you, sir,” said Kerbeck. “And the message was received loud and clear, sir! You really mopped the floor with me!” The man grinned sheepishly.

 

“She let you off lightly, Kerbeck,” said Milroy. “I did some record checking, too. Do you see what the Lieutenant is wearing on her tunic? The gold one?”

 

“Uh, yes sir.”

 

“What is it?”

 

“The… the Medal for Conspicuous Gallantry, sir.”

 

“Do you know what she did to earn it?”

 

“Uh, that fight out in the Merganthal Reaches…”

 

“She earned it for, among other things, killing three enemy soldiers, in battle armor, in hand-to-hand combat, Private. Hand-to-hand!”

 

“Holy shit…” There was a stir in the whole platoon and some whispered comments. Anny found herself blushing. The memory of that blood-soaked and terrifying encounter was not one she relished.

 

“Now all of you listen up!” said Milroy loudly. “Starting next week Lieutenant Payne will be in command of this platoon. I will be leaving for OCS. But I still have my contacts here! And if I hear that any one of you apes has treated the Lieutenant with anything less than the utmost respect, I promise you that I will go AWOL, come back here, and kick the asses of every one of you across the East Ridge! You hear me?”

 

 _“Yes sir!”_ The whole platoon roared in reply.

 

“Any questions?”

 

“Uh, yeah, what’s ‘utmost’ mean?” The voice came from the rear rank and everyone laughed.

 

“It means I kick _your_ ass _twice_ , Soblinski!” snapped Milroy. “Now shut up!”

 

“Yes sir!”

 

Milroy turned to face her. “I think that about wraps things up, Lieutenant.”

 

“Yes, I think so. And Sergeant?”

 

“Sir?”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“Sir!” Milroy saluted crisply and Anny returned it. Milroy called the platoon to attention, but Private Kerbeck held back for a moment.

 

“Lieutenant?”

 

“Yes, Private?”

 

Kerbeck’s voice fell to a whisper. “Howdja know it was me, sir?”

 

“Lucky guess.” Kerbeck looked surprised and then a bit scandalized. “But I figured that even if I guessed wrong, my message would find its way to the right man sooner or later,” continued Anny. “Don’t you think, Private?”

 

A smile appeared on his face. “Yes, sir! It sure would have!”

 

“Kerbeck! Back in ranks!” snapped Milroy.

 

“Yes sir!” Kerbeck scampered to his spot. Anny watched the platoon march off, a smile slowly growing on her face and an elation growing in her heart. She turned and walked off quickly, hoping to catch up with Jer and Alby. She wasn’t surprised to find them—and Sven Estaban—lingering by the edge of the parade ground waiting for her.

 

What was that all about?” asked Alby.

 

“Oh, just a few administrative things we needed to work out,” she replied. She moved next to Jer and they headed toward the regimental mess.

 

“How was your day?” asked Jer.

 

“Good. Really good.”

 

**Chapter 3**

 

 **A** lby Vorsworth came out of the shower and found that Quinton was already there with the coffee. “Good morning, sir,” he said.

 

“Morning,” replied Alby. “What are you doing here? It’s the weekend.”

 

“The base works seven days a week, sir.”

 

“The base, but not all the people. I don’t have any duty today, nor tomorrow. You should take the day off.”

 

“I don’t mind sir. Keeps me busy. You know what they say about idle hands, sir.”

 

“Well, frankly, I fully intend to keep my own hands entirely idle today, Quinton! I’ll take my chances with the Devil.”

 

The elderly enlistedman chuckled. “Hard week, sir?”

 

“A bit hectic, yes.” Alby was tempted to say more, but then thought better of it. Officers shouldn’t complain in front of enlistedmen. But he did feel like complaining to someone. When Colonel Fetherbay had assigned him to the simulator project it had seemed like a dream come true. He loved computers and wasn’t nearly so enamored to all the marching around and saluting stuff that seemed to be so dear to Anny and Jer. He thought it was going to be perfect.

 

Until he found out what a mess the project was.

 

Nobody seemed to be in charge. Or rather, there were too many people who thought they were in charge. There was a civilian from the company who made the simulators, another civilian in charge of the construction crew building the building the simulators would go in, and then there was a lieutenant from brigade headquarters, a guy named Pflugfelter, who had been told to run the whole circus. Unfortunately, Pflugfelter’s experience with computers was limited to maintaining the comconsoles used on the base and not much more. Theoretically he could boss around the guy from the simulator company, but he didn’t know enough to do so. And Alby quickly deduced that the higher ranking officers had little interest and no faith in the damn simulators anyway. They didn’t care if the project was ever completed. There would be no help from that quarter.

 

No help, but probably plenty of blame.

 

Obviously someone higher up in the military or the government thought that the simulators were a good idea and no doubt sooner or later one of them was going to ask why the simulator facility at Fort Vorolson wasn’t up and running? At that point heads would start rolling. Alby didn’t have any particular concern for his own head, but he still didn’t want to be caught in the middle of it.

 

_Maybe I can talk to… oh, stop that! You’ve worried enough about it for one week. Take the day off!_

The idea that he _could_ take the day off was novel. At the Academy down-time had come in tiny droplets. An hour here, an afternoon there, but for the most part the cadets’ schedules were unrelenting. After four years it had become so ingrained that rediscovering the concept of the _weekend_ made Alby feel like he’d found some grand new world.

 

He put on his undress greens as he drank coffee and chatted with Quinton. The man actually did remind him a good bit of some of the male servants at Vorsworth House, but that wasn’t all that surprising: they were all ex-military, too. Unlike officers, the enlistedmen were forced to retire after forty years in the service. Many of these ‘twice twenty year men’ found jobs as servants for upper-class Vor. From the look of the hashmarks on his sleeves, Quinton was going to find himself in that situation in just another year.

 

He finished the coffee, sealed up his tunic, grabbed his hat and went out the door with a wave to his dog-robber. He glanced down the hall toward Anny’s room, but the door was closed. He went down the steps and found Anny and Jer just coming out of Jer’s room. Had they spent the night together or…? _None of my business. None of anyone’s business!_

 

There had been a time when he’d felt a bit jealous of Jer. He’d sort of been in love with Anny himself. But then any of the cadets who weren’t outright enemies had sort of been in love with Anny. Alby had gotten over that, primarily by falling in love with someone else. Abigail Vorburn, one of the girls in the next batch allowed into the Academy, the ‘Second Six’ as they’d come to call themselves, had become his friend. There were times when it seemed like they were in love and times when it didn’t. Abbie was just as determined to make it through the Academy as Anny had been and she wasn’t going let something like an infatuated Alby Vorsworth derail her goal. Abbie had just started her third year, so it was going to be a while before they could be anything more than just friends. Alby wrote to her frequently and she wrote back as often as her busy schedule allowed.

 

“Howdy folks,” said Alby cheerfully. “Ready to explore the town?”

 

His friends both smiled and agreed enthusiastically. They headed out the door and Alby turned toward where the shuttle bus to the town would pick them up. “What? No breakfast first?” asked Jer, looking toward the mess hall.

 

“There must be places in the town to eat,” said Alby. “I’d like to try something different.”

 

“Yeah, but here it’s free.”

 

“No problem, my treat.”

 

“Alby, we can’t keep mooching off you,” said Anny. “You’re always treating us to meals.”

 

“Always? I’ve had the opportunity to buy you meals, what? About a dozen times in the four years we’ve known each other?”

 

“More than that.”

 

“Not much!” denied Alby. “But if you are so determined to refuse my hospitality, well, then, let’s go to the mess hall…” he turned in that direction with an exaggerated look of sorrow on his face.

 

He hadn’t gone five steps before Jer grabbed him by one arm and Anny by the other, physically hoisted him into the air, and turned him back toward the shuttle stop. “Help! Help! I’m being forced to buy breakfast!” he cried, but not very loudly. They all laughed. The bus arrived only moments later and they piled aboard. Alby looked fondly at Anny and Jer. They, along with Abbie and Patric Mederov, were his best friends in the world. Growing up he’d never had any real friends except for a few of the servants who were all sixty years his senior.

 

Alby’s childhood had been anything but typical. The Vorsworth family had a long and distinguished history of service to the Empire. All the males had always served in the military. He had two older brothers who were both killed serving the Empire before Alby had been born. Indeed, if they hadn’t died, Alby never would have been born. During the Time of Isolation, before Barrayar had regained galactic technology, the deaths of the two siblings would have meant an end to the Vorsworth line. His parents were both in their sixties at the time and had no other close relations—except for their disowned daughter. But with galactic technology available, specifically genetic testing and the uterine replicator, it was still possible for his parents to have another child. Alby had been the result. He would carry on the line and the family traditions.

 

In his younger years he hadn’t known enough to see anything odd in the situation, but as he grew older he began to realize—and resent—the fact that he’d been… _created_ simply as a replacement for his two dead brothers. That resentment very nearly became outright rebellion on Alby’s part. He had come within a millimeter of turning his back on his parents, the Academy, everything, and just walking away. It had only been the deep friendships he’d developed at the Academy that prevented him from doing so. He felt no particular loyalty to his parents, but he would have died for his friends—just as they would have for him. And that was no empty cliché. They had very nearly died for each other on more than one occasion. The ribbons on Anny’s and Jer’s—and his own—chests had been won as much for saving each other as for service to the Imperium.

 

The bus made a circuit through the fort, picking up other people and then headed into the town of Malverton. Apparently the place had started out as a tiny logging camp built beside the headwaters of the Pinios River. From that it had grown into a major supplier of lumber to the Vortugalov District. There were still several sawmills in operation, but the primary business of the town was now supporting the sprawling military base just to the north.

 

The bus let them off in the main square of the town. It was still pretty early and there weren’t that many people on the street yet. The place had a tidy and welcoming appearance and it looked like it was going to be a beautiful day. An exhilarating feeling of freedom and unlimited potential filled Alby. They strolled around the square and then he spotted what appeared to be a restaurant halfway down the block on a side street. “Let’s try there,” he said. It was a cozy little place and the prices were low enough that Anny and Jer didn’t object. The cuisine was indeed different from what was served in the mess hall. Despite its Anglo name, Malverton was primarily inhabited by the descendents of the Greek settlers who had made up about a quarter of the “Firsters” who had colonized Barrayar. But the food was good and the waitress friendly. Alby left her a nice tip. He noticed that the waitress and several of the other patrons were staring curiously at Anny, but she was so used to that she didn’t seem to notice. They spent the meal comparing the events of the previous week.

 

“So, you’ll be in command of your platoon starting next week,” said Jer to Anny. “Think they’ll give you any trouble?”

 

“I hope not, “she replied. “They seem like good men.”

 

“Well, after the way you beat the snot out of the one guy, I doubt the others will get out of line!” said Alby with a laugh.

 

“I can’t solve every problem by beating up my men, Alby.”

 

“No, but it can’t hurt for them to know that you can beat them up if necessary,” said Jer. “I think you probably made a good first impression on them, Anny.”

 

“I hope so. But what about you? Did you have to beat up anyone in H Company?”

 

“Nope, things went pretty smoothly. Well, the commander of 1st platoon, Vorkerkas, seems like a bit of a snob, but he hasn’t made any trouble so far. I’ve got the anti-tank platoon and I need to get up to speed with the ordnance. It’s a bit older than what I trained on. Fortunately the platoon sergeant knows the stuff backwards and forwards and he seems willing to work with me. That was my big worry: he’s been more or less in charge for quite a while and I was afraid he might object to me coming in and taking over. So I don’t think I’ll need to break any heads.”

 

“Well, I could use someone to break some heads for me!” said Alby. “If either of you would like to help me out with that, I’d be grateful.”

 

“Problems?” asked Anny.

 

“Oh, a few.” He spent a few minutes venting his frustrations. “But enough of that! What do you guys want to do today?”

 

“Oh, just look around, I guess,” said Jer.

 

“Well, we’ve got all day—and all night to explore. With all the troops here I’ll bet they’ve got plenty of things to entertain them.”

 

“I can’t stay out too late,” said Anny. “I’ve got an appointment with the base armorer at 0800.”

 

“You’ve got duty tomorrow?” asked Alby in surprise.

 

“Not really, although I will next weekend, rotating duty officer, you know. But no, tomorrow I have to get my armor fitted.”

 

“Oh cripes! That’s right!” exclaimed Jer. “I nearly forgot about that! I get mine at 1400 tomorrow.”

 

“Oh yeah,” said Alby. “Guess I won’t be needing a set for myself while I’m detached like this. Although having a set would make cracking heads together a lot easier!” The others laughed. The suits of powered battle armor the assault troops used gave the wearer superhuman strength.

 

“I hear they’re still using the old Model IX suits here,” said Jer, looking disappointed.

 

“Yeah, but as each battalion ships out they’re supposed to get the new Model XI armor,” said Anny. “3rd Battalion already has theirs, I hear.”

 

“Well that’s good, I loved the new model when we were on our cruise last year.”

 

“Yeah, they were really something,” agreed Alby. “But come on, time’s a-wasting!” They went back outside and the streets were a lot more crowded now. Many of the people were men in uniform, but there were also plenty of other men who were obviously soldiers even though they were wearing civilian clothes. Many of this latter group were accompanied by women and children—married soldiers out with their families. The west side of the town held several large housing tracts with living quarters for the married men and their dependents. They strolled over in that direction and saw that in addition to the houses, there were playgrounds and several schools. They all had a military look to them, but they were neat and tidy.

 

“I guess things have changed a lot in recent years,” said Anny. “My da used to talk about how most soldiers waited until they mustered out before getting married. There was almost no accommodation for married soldiers or ones with children.”

 

“Seems like it would be pretty hard to get men to join up under those conditions,” said Jer.

 

“These days, with all the new factory jobs in the cities, yeah,” said Anny. “But this isn’t Komarr, Jer. Folks out in the back country are still awful poor compared to most. A lot join up as a way to get away from that. You saw what it was like up in the mountains when we were fighting the fire.”

 

Jer fell silent and Alby felt a twinge of guilt. Anny had come from one of those desperately poor regions. She hadn’t joined up to get away from that, but still... Alby thought about the huge mansion he’d grown up in, all the servants…

 

“Say guys,” he said suddenly. Jer and Anny turned their heads toward him. “I know you’ve been checking out the price on apartments around here. What are they like?”

 

“Well…” said Anny uncertainly.

 

“The ones we could afford on our combined salaries are pretty…”

 

“Awful?” asked Alby.

 

“Well, yeah… I mean there were a few that didn’t look too bad, but they weren’t much better than the BOQ—where we can stay for free.”

 

“That’s what I figured,” said Alby, nodding his head. “Well, I’ve done some checking, too, and there are a couple of pretty nice houses for rent that are well within my budget and…” He held up his hand to cut off the protests he saw on his friends’ faces. “I know you won’t accept any offer of mine to stay free, so I’ll have to charge you rent. But I’m sure we can come up with a rate that you can afford.” He grinned at them.

 

They exchanged glances. “We’ll… we’ll have to think about it,” said Jer.

 

“But thank you, Alby,” added Anny.

 

“No problem. I’ve got a couple of the addresses. We could take a look while we’re here.”

 

“Why not? It’s a beautiful day,” said Jer.

 

So they called up a map of the town on their computers and made their way to the locations on Alby’s list. They _were_ nice houses, set in a part of town with a lot of nice houses and tree-lined streets and paved sidewalks. And it was clear that a number of officers lived here; they saw several men they recognized from the regimental mess out working in their yards.

 

“What’s the monthly rent on a place like this?” asked Jer, pointing at one of the potential properties.

 

“None of your business,” said Alby, smiling. “Your only concern is what rent I’ll charge you.”

 

“Alby…” said Anny. “We can’t…”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Because we have to learn to live within our means! What if you’re suddenly transferred to Vorbarr Sultana or… or Sergyar? We can’t expect you to keep paying the rent on a place like this when you’re not even here!”

 

“Well, I could…”

 

“That’s not the point!”

 

“All right! All right! I’ll look around for something cheaper,” said Alby a bit grumpily.

 

“There have to be cheaper places,” said Jer. “Those officers we saw down the street were both majors from brigade HQ, I think. There must be places for lower ranking sods like us.”

 

Alby used his computer pad to find a few such places and they walked over to take a look. They weren’t nearly as nice and the section of town they were in wasn’t either. In some ways they looked worse than what they’d seen the enlisted families living in. “Well, I can’t say that I like any of these,” he snorted. “Are you sure I can’t give us a little bit of an upgrade?”

 

“We’ll make you a deal,” said Anny. “Why don’t you just put your own money aside and pretend you’re a poverty-stricken lieutenant like us? No, I mean it. Let’s figure out what we can afford combining our three salaries and nothing else.”

 

Alby was skeptical, but agreed to give it a try. “But not right now. It’s too nice a day for calculating budgets! Let’s head back toward the center of town. It’s nearly lunch time.” The other two agreed and they started off.

 

But while they had been standing there, they’d attracted the attention of a few children. Well, in fact, it had been Anny who had attracted their attention. Now a little girl, maybe seven or eight years old, called out to her: “Miss? Miss? Are you really a soldier?”

 

Anny turned and smiled and replied. “Yes, I am.”

 

“Really?” The girl’s eyes were very wide.

 

“No way!” cried an older boy. “They don’t let girls in the army!”

 

“They didn’t used to,” said Anny. “But they’ve changed some of the rules and now there are some girls. Over a hundred, actually.” Alby reflected that that was stretching the truth a little. There may have been over a hundred women at the Academy, but at this moment there was only one woman soldier—and that was Anny Payne.

 

“Aw, she’s just a med-tech or somethin’” said the boy dismissively.

 

“Oh no,” said Alby. “She’s a real soldier. Just a few months ago she was fighting pirates! I saw her myself. She beat the… stuffings out of a whole bunch, all by herself.”

 

“Wow!” cried the little girl. “Someday I’m gonna be a soldier, too!”

 

“In your dreams, Kara!” snorted the boy.

 

Anny squatted down and took the girl’s hand. “In your dreams for now, but sometimes you can make your dreams real. I did. Of course, you’ll have to wait until you’re a little older to try.” The girl blushed and then ran off, the other children following her. Anny stood up and her eyes were gleaming.

 

“New recruit?” asked Alby, grinning broadly.

 

“Who knows?”

 

“You opened the door for her, Anny,” said Jer.

 

“Let’s hope it stays open.”

 

“Come on,” said Alby, “let’s eat.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Anny checked the time, hurriedly finished off her breakfast, and then left the mess hall. In spite of all her intentions, she’d stayed in town until very late yesterday. And then spent another hour or so, very much by intention, awake in Jer’s bed before getting to sleep. As a result she’d slept right through reveille and now had to rush to get to the armory on time.

 

Still, she was smiling. Yesterday had been fun and last night had been, too. Being able to spend time with Jer—in bed and out—was a wonderful thing. Not having to worry about the regulations was a wonderful thing, too.

 

Or at least she hoped she didn’t have to worry.

 

While there was nothing in the regulations forbidding an officer from taking a lover, the assumption was that it would be a male officer with a female civilian. The notion of a male officer with a female officer was not something the writers of the regulations had considered. Of course, the regulations also didn’t consider a male officer with another male officer and while it was quietly acknowledged that such things did occur, the unofficial policy seemed to be to just look the other way and pretend it wasn’t happening. Anny sort of hoped the same policy would be followed with her and Jer.

 

Unless they decided to get married.

 

In which case they’d want it officially recognized with all the legalities and dependent privileges and… _Oh hell, why does it have to be so damn complicated?_ Her good mood faded somewhat and she put the issue out of her mind.

 

The regimental armory was a huge building set near the northwest end of the base and it was a solidly built concrete structure rather than wood like the barracks. In addition to heavy weapons and maintenance facilities, it also housed the over two thousand sets of battle armor for the regiment. Anny had to show her ID to get in and then ask directions to get to where the 1st Battalion ordnance sergeant had his office. The interior of the building was divided into a bewildering warren of store rooms, service bays, and offices.

 

She walked down one long aisle with racks of the power armor on either side of her. The Model XI armor, like she’d used on Dounby, had a sleek, ultra-modern look to it, but these older Model IXs had a hulking, sinister appearance, like trolls or mutants from a fairy tale. With the lights mostly turned off in the building, it was downright creepy. They all seemed to be staring at her…

 

Up ahead was a more brightly lit area and the noise of activity came to her ears. Activity—and cursing. She came into one of the maintenance bays and saw a half-dozen men working on several suits of battle armor. One of the suits had been almost completely disassembled, with its parts laid out carefully over a few dozen square meters of floor. Two men were bent over it and one of them was the one doing the cursing. For some reason Anny wasn’t surprised to see the ordnance sergeant’s chevrons on the man’s sleeve.  


“Dammit, Georg!” he snarled. “When I told you to strip this suit down, I didn’t mean this! What the hell were you doing, you idiot!”

 

“But, Sarge, you said… and I thought…” protested the other man.

 

“There you go! Thinking again! If I need any thinking done around here I’ve got computers for that! Now what the hell am I gonna do? This was for that new shavetail frill in C Company! She’ll be here any minute and… what are you gawking at? Screw yer eyes back in yer head, man!”

 

“Uh… I think she’s here, Sarge.”

 

The ordnance sergeant spun around and then turned an amazing shade of crimson. Anny tried to keep from smiling—but failed. “Ordnance Sergeant Gadd? I’m Lieutenant Payne.” She took a few steps forward and looked over the array of parts on the floor. “And this is for me?”

 

“It… uh… it was supposed to be. But this idiot went and…! Sorry, Lieutenant, I’ll try and find another one that we can…”

 

“No need for that, Sergeant. We can just put this one back together.”

 

“But… but that will take hours!”

 

“I’m in no hurry. And I’d really like to see how one of these Model IXs goes together. On my apprentice cruise I got a chance to assemble and prep a bunch of the new Model XIs for the ordnance sergeant there and I’d like to see the differences. Can’t ever know too much about how your armor works.”

 

“Well I’ll be…” The look of amazement on the man’s face was priceless. “All right, why the hell not? Georg, make yourself useful and bring that tool kit over here!”

 

They got to work.

 

Taking a brand new suit out of its shipping crate and getting it ready for use was an exacting process that took about thirty man-hours. That was mostly because each of the major components had to be tested. Fortunately, in this case they were just reassembling the suit rather than testing everything. Even so, it took all morning and they were still at it well into the afternoon. Gadd seemed as much surprised by her knowledge of the armor as he was at her willingness to get her hands dirty.

 

Much of the armor was very similar to what Anny had worked on before, but the big difference was the control system. “So you used that new neural interface system, Lieutenant?” asked Gadd. “I’ve been studying the tech manuals for when 1st Battalion gets ‘em, but you can’t tell how the thing actually runs from that. What’s it like?”

 

Anny wiped a bit of sweat off her face with a dirty hand and smiled. “Like a dream, Sarge. It’s like you’re walking around in your street clothes. Smooth as silk.”

 

“No delay in the response at all?”

 

“None that I could see—and believe me, I gave my suit a workout.”

 

“Uh, yeah, I heard something about that. So I guess goin’ back to this hunk o’ junk will be sort of a let down, huh?”

 

“Oh, I trained on a Model IX at the Academy. Never got to tear one apart like this, though. But this will be okay. ‘Course I won’t turn down a Model XI when the battalion gets them!” She laughed and so did Gadd. After a moment the man’s face grew serious.

 

“Uh... Lieutenant, I’m sorry about what I said earlier… when I didn’t know you were there.”

 

“Well I _am_ a shavetail,” she grinned.

 

“That’s not what I… That’s not what I meant.”

 

“I’ve heard worse. A lot worse. Believe me.” She held out her hand and after a moment he took it and shook.

 

They continued working and Gadd didn’t even seem too flustered when she showed him how to install the special adapter that allowed her to use the suit’s sanitary plumbing with her female anatomy.

 

“From the sound ‘o things I might have to make that gizmo a standard item in the parts inventory.”

 

“I hope so,” said Anny with a smile.

 

Finally the suit was back together and they had to do the adjustments to actually fit it to her body shape. The older suits were controlled by a multitude of pressure-sensitive pads lining the interior that would cause the suit to replicate her movements. They needed to fit snugly to function properly.

 

“Did you bring your undersuit?” asked Gadd, looking around.

 

“Wearing it under my fatigues, Sarge.”

 

“Hell! No wonder you’re sweating like that!”

 

“Yeah, didn’t quite plan on doing this. But it’s okay.” She started shucking off her fatigues. The undersuit was a skintight garment that could be worn under a normal space suit or in a suit of battle armor. It had a set of micro-capillaries built into it that could connect to the suit’s heating and cooling system. Unconnected, it did tend to get a bit warm.

 

As she set aside her tunic and trousers she noticed that Gadd’s assistant, Georg, was staring at her. Yeah, the suit was really skintight. Really. He saw her looking at him looking at her and turned away hastily. She stepped up to the rear of her armor. The back plates of the torso were open and she hoisted herself inside and let her legs slide down inside the legs of the suit. They’d made some guesses about the proper length to set the legs to and the guess seemed pretty close. “Maybe just a tad too long,” she said to Gadd. He nodded and squatted down next to the suit with a power wrench and spun a few of the adjustment bolts. “Whoa, a little too much,” said Anny. “Back a bit.”

 

Little by little they made the suit fit. First the legs and then the arms. The torso wasn’t as important except for comfort. She was glad to find that the plumbing connection worked. Finally they were ready to power it up and give it a test run. She hit the main power switch and the armor came to life around her. The visor closed and the inside of the helmet became a mass of displays and status read-outs which surrounded the vision slit. These flickered and then filled up with data and messages. When the start-up was complete, she closed the rear of the armor and then walked over to an empty part of the bay and went through a series of movements.

 

“How’s it feel?” asked Gadd when she stopped.

 

“Not bad. I think we need to lengthen the right forearm by about a centimeter. My fingers felt sort of jammed into the gauntlets.”

 

“Right.” The man opened an access panel below the right elbow and went to work with the power wrench. “How’s that?”

 

Anny moved the arm around. “Better. Let me try some more stuff.” Gadd stepped back and she proceeded to roll and tumble and fall flat on the floor and crawl around. There was no doubt that the Model IX suit was a tiny bit less responsive than the Model XI, but she was sure she could get used to it again.

 

Still, the problem with any suit of battle armor was the mass. No matter how responsive the motivators or how strong the mechanical muscles, you still had to allow for the fact that the suit massed three or four times as much as you did. If you gave into the temptation to really use the suit’s muscles to their maximum, you could find yourself careening uncontrollably into walls, trees, or your friends. Anny skidded a few times on the smooth floor but managed to avoid any disasters. She and Gadd made a few more minor adjustments to her suit and then she was satisfied.

 

She opened the visor on the helmet. “I think that about does it, Sarge. You want me to park it over in its rack or do you want to do any more work on it?”

 

“No, you can put ‘er in the rack when we’re done, but you still need to pick out your side-arm.”

 

“My what?”

 

The man grinned. “That’s right, you probably haven’t heard about that, have you? Come on over here.”

 

Gadd walked down an aisle between bins of spare parts and Anny followed, the feet of her suit clunking loudly on the floor despite the padded soles. The ordnance sergeant came to a large storage cabinet and swung open the doors and stood back. “Here you go, Lieutenant, take your pick.”

 

Anny gawked at the contents of the cabinet. She’d been expecting some sort of energy weapons modified for the large gauntlets of a suit of armor, but instead she saw what looked like a collection from some museum of pre-gunpowder weapons from the Time of Isolation. War hammers, maces, battle axes, all way too large for a man to use, hung in rows from strong brackets.

 

“What is this?” she demanded.

 

“Something Colonel Fetherbay came up with a few years ago. For close combat.”

 

Anny reached out and grasped the handle of one of the weapons, a mace she guessed you’d call it, and pulled it free from its bracket. “This thing must weigh fifteen kilos!” she exclaimed, hefting it.

 

“Closer to twenty,” said Gadd. “It’s got a depleted uranium core. Just the thing for opening a can in close quarters.”

 

“Yeah… yeah, I could have used one of these six months ago…” The more Anny thought about it, the more sense it made. Modern battle armor wasn’t just a powered suit of armored plates. Most suits had sophisticated shielding that could defeat nearly any man-portable energy weapons—at least for a while. The only things that could penetrate them were things like hyper-velocity rail guns and special types of needle grenades. But they were large, clumsy weapons not well-suited for close action on shipboard. In fact, the rail guns were a real menace aboard ship: a miss could send a projectile tearing its way clear through a ship, doing untold damage.

 

So during boarding actions it often came down literally to hand-to-hand combat with the armored behemoths battering each other to junk. Anny had done exactly that to three opponents on the planet Dounby during her apprentice cruise. But she’d been forced to improvise the weapons she used… “You say Colonel Fetherbay came up with this?”

 

“Well, I heard that he got the idea from something he’d read about the Cetagandans using stuff like this… or maybe it was the Nuevo Brasilians, I don’t remember. But he had the armorers start making these things. The boys seem to like them.”

 

She made a few practice swings with the mace and then put it back. She started to reach for one of the battle axes. “Uh, wait, Lieutenant,” said Gadd. “Should have mentioned: you need special training before you’re allowed one of those. They’ve got mono-molecular edges. Real easy to slice through stuff you don’t intend.”

 

“Yeah, I guess it would be.” She shifted her gaze, looking over the rows of deadly objects. She finally selected one. It was a massive hammer with one blunt end and the other with a nasty-looking spike sticking out. She stepped back and gave the thing a try. The powerful servos in her armor allowed her to move the hammer around like it was a twig, but she could sense the impact it would have if she struck something with it.

 

“Good choice,” said Gadd. “You can pound or you can puncture something.”

 

“This is going to take some practice…”

 

“You’ll get it, I’m sure. But if that’s the one you want, then I guess we are done here, Lieutenant.”

 

 _Meaning I’ve wasted enough of your valuable time today._ Anny smiled and managed to clip her hammer to a clamp on the side of her armor without any help. But then she needed Gadd to show her where to park her suit. The racks were laid out by battalion, company and platoon and she wasn’t sure where 3rd Platoon, C Company was located. He delegated his assistant, Georg, to show her. She scooped up her fatigues and followed the man into the storage area.

 

After she parked her suit and emerged from the rear of it, she saw that Georg was still there. “You impressed the hell out of the Sarge, you know,” he said.

 

“Oh?”

 

“Most of the officers—the men too, for that matter—don’t know shit about the suits and don’t care, neither. Oh, they know how to use ‘em and do field maintenance and all, but nothing like you did just now.”

 

Anny shrugged as she pulled on her fatigues. “Like I said: you can never know too much about the things you’re depending on to keep you alive. Maybe I should suggest to the Colonel that everyone should get some more in-depth instruction on battle armor.”

 

“The Sarge would probably like that,” said Georg with a grin.

 

“Okay, thanks for your help, see you later.” Anny took her leave and managed to find her way out of the armory without getting lost. It was mid-afternoon and her stomach was growling. She’d missed lunch. She wondered if she could wheedle a snack out of the people in the mess hall. First, though, she wanted to get back to her quarters and take off her undersuit and get a shower.

 

Or maybe she’d head over to the officer’s gym and work out a little first. It was amazing to have so many options.

 

Decisions, decisions…

 

 

**Chapter 4**

 

 **“A** ll right, let’s go!” cried Jer Naddel, as the rear ramp on the assault shuttle crashed down. The men of his platoon surged forward in their battle armor. A few, the first ones out, carried only normal infantry gear; these spread out to form a perimeter. Most, however, were burdened with the heavy weapons and equipment that gave H Company its purpose.

 

Assault regiments were organized like ordinary infantry regiments: three battalions, each battalion with three ‘rifle’ companies and one heavy weapons company. The regiment also had some other assets like supply, medical, and sappers directly attached to it. Regular regiments had all that, too, but they would normally be attached to divisions and the divisions had all manner of heavy equipment including artillery and tanks to support the infantry.

 

But assault regiments usually operated independently and their ‘logistical train’ and support were much smaller. They were meant to be self-sufficient and highly mobile, able to fight on their own without the heavy support that normal regiments had. In a planetary assault they would be the first ones down, charged with securing a landing zone so that the other troops could follow.

 

The thing that allowed them to do this, of course, was their battle armor. A trooper in a powered suit was better protected, faster, and more heavily armed than any ordinary infantryman could hope to be. Some people had romantically likened it to an armored knight on an armored charger compared to a peasant foot soldier. It wasn’t a fair comparison since even an unarmored infantryman was a highly skilled and deadly warrior; still it got the idea across. If it weren’t for the enormous expense of the battle armor, everyone would probably wear them.

 

Still, even with their battle armor, the assault troopers needed some of the heavy support that the normal infantry had. This was where the weapons companies came in. They carried the most powerful weapons that could still be light and mobile enough to accompany an assault regiment.

 

The shuttles had dropped them off in a rugged and uninhabited mountain valley that the regiment used for firing exercises. Unlike the areas close to the fort, most of the valley had not been terraformed. Broad swaths were covered by the red and brown Barrayaran vegetation—or at least they were where they hadn’t been torn to shreds by heavy weapons fire. “First squad, over there! Second squad, in those rocks! Third squad, with me!” commanded Jer. Today’s activities would be primarily target practice, but they were supposed to act as though enemy troops were in the vicinity and act accordingly. And despite all their high-tech devices, one of the best defensive tactics was still the ancient one of finding some fat rocks to hide behind and keep your fool head down!

 

The first two squads carried a mix of heavy plasma arcs, man-portable rail guns and missile launchers. The third squad was equipped with even heavier weapons mounted on float-sleds. Jer led these down into a sheltered gully while the rest of his platoon deployed. A glance at the tactical display in his helmet showed him that the other two platoons of the company were also moving into position. First Platoon was equipped with rocket launchers and mortars to provide long-range indirect fire support. Second Platoon was the air defense platoon. They had automated lasers, rail guns, and missiles that were all supposed to defend the battalion from enemy aircraft, artillery, and missiles. Sometimes they did.

 

Jer’s platoon was labeled the “Anti-Tank Platoon” but in reality it could have been better called the ‘direct fire support platoon’. Yes, their primary function was to take out enemy armored vehicles, but from everything Jer had read, he could expect to be called upon to use his heavy weapons against any target the infantry couldn’t handle on their own.

 

“H Company platoons, report your status.” Captain Andronov’s voice came over the command circuit. Jer glanced around and his troopers seemed to be where he wanted them. The platoon sergeant, a man named Shusterman, gave him a ‘thumbs up’.

 

“Third Platoon, in position,” he said. A few moments later the other two platoon commanders, Lieutenant Vorkerkas and Ensign Vorledge, reported the same. Jer was pleased that he’d been first, but he had to admit that the missile and air defense equipment were more clumsy to move around than his own.

 

“Very good,” said Andronov. “Mr. Naddel, you’re up first. Simulated targets will become active in sixty seconds. Get your men ready.”

 

“Yes sir!” He switched to the platoon circuit, silently cursing when it took him two attempts. Damn, he really missed the neural interface! With the new suits all you had to do was think: _Platoon Circuit_ and you got it. With the older suit he had to focus his eye on the appropriate box in the heads-up display projected on the inside of his helmet and tap a button inside the finger of his suit to make the choice. “Third Platoon, listen up! Target exercise will begin in forty-five seconds. Remember, this is not a free for all! Check what you are shooting at! First and second squads, don’t waste your fire on heavy targets, third squad don’t waste _your_ fire on light ones. And pay attention to the IFF beacons! Sometimes they’ll throw in a friendly just to trip us up.” At least they’d done that to him a few times at the Academy…

 

“Attention Company,” came Andronov’s voice over the general circuit. “Weapons are free, repeat, weapons are free. Confirm one-quarter power on all weapons.”

 

Jer called up the master status display for his platoon, but before he could even check it out Sergeant Shusterman informed him that all weapons were set at one-quarter power. Well, that _was_ part of his job after all. Jer confirmed the power setting to Andronov. Even at one-quarter power the weapons would still obliterate an un-armored man, but the reduced levels would save wear and tear on the equipment.

 

The exercise began. In many ways it was like some of the video games he’d played as a kid. Colored icons appeared on the tactical display inside his helmet and the idea was to blast them as quickly as possible. Of course the big difference here was that while the targets weren’t real, the weapons certainly were! The first blips appeared on his tactical display and Jer briefly stood on tip-toes to peer over the edge of the gully. The blips were also superimposed on his view of the valley. His sensors identified them as a half-dozen light recon vehicles, skimming along from left to right across his front.

 

“First squad, those are yours,” he said. “Commence firing.” The words were scarcely out of his mouth before his men opened up. Dazzling blasts from the plasma arcs—automatically dimmed down to a safe level in his visual display—and the thunderbolt crack of the rail guns assaulted his senses. Donner and Blitzen the boys called them. The missile launchers, in contrast, were relatively quiet. The target icons started to wink out and in a few moments they were all gone. Almost immediately another group appeared, this time from the right and moving left. Jer gave the command for his second squad to engage them. They’d made plans earlier to divide the target area up into two zones with each squad taking a zone and not firing at targets in the other zone unless specifically ordered to.

 

The second batch of targets was dispatched and then two more groups appeared at once and both squads had to engage. Jer suspected that, just like a video game, things would get faster and the targets more numerous until it would be impossible to get them all. Not terribly realistic—or fair—but it would force his troopers to respond with every bit of speed and precision that they could muster.

 

Things went on well enough for a few minutes. The squad sergeants assigned targets, while the gunners aimed and fired. Other men in the squads scampered back to the gully where the float sleds were waiting to grab spare power packs and take them back to the gunners. So far nothing had gotten through. A thin haze of smoke and vaporized rock drifted up from the valley in the cool morning air.

 

Then a new blip appeared and it was bigger than the others and it flashed red on Jer’s display. “Check fire! Check fire!’ said Jer urgently. “Heavy target! Third Squad, it’s yours!” The newcomer was reading as a medium tank, not as formidable as one of the Mark XXIs that the 283rd boasted, but still big enough to mount a full plasma mirror and other shielding. The plasma mirrors on their battle armor were capable of deflecting a bolt from a plasma arc, but the ones on a spaceship—or a tank—could actually redirect the bolt back against the ship or person who fired it. If Jer’s heavy plasma arc men in the first and second squads fired at the tank they could well end up frying themselves—if the tank had been real.

 

No, this was a job for the rail guns. The heavy rail guns. He had two of them on the float sleds of third squad and now they went into action. The targeting information was fed into them while they were still out of sight in the gully and then on command the pair rose up until they were just high enough to draw a line of sight to the target. In unison they each let off a round. Even at just one-quarter power there was a concussion powerful enough to be felt even inside a suit of armor. Jer had turned down the volume on his external microphones, but the sonic boom still seemed loud. The recoil pushed both float sleds back sharply and they instantly sank down into the gully to evade any return fire—not that there would be any.

 

The target icon winked out. Jer doubted that just two shots would have been enough to do that against a real target, but wasn’t the point of this exercise. “Good shooting,” he complimented the gunners.

 

More targets appeared and they engaged them appropriately. Had this been a real battle, they’d have a ridiculously high kill total. But in a real battle, it wouldn’t be this easy. _Just target practice._

 

But the targets kept coming in greater and greater numbers and some of the heavy targets did require multiple shots to eliminate. Jer had to start personally directing some of the fire, ordering one squad to help the others if they were threatened with being overwhelmed. A few targets did start slipping through, getting beyond their firing area intact, but so far only a few.

 

But then a new wave of targets appeared and there were just too many to stop. Jer was sweating and snapping out orders when Captain Andronov’s voice came over his communicator. “First Platoon, it looks like Third Platoon could use some help. You are ordered to engage.”

 

Only a few seconds later there was a roar off to his left and Jer saw missiles streaking into the air from a fat clump of skellytums about five hundred meters away. Explosions started to erupt in the valley. Flashes, fireballs, huge gouts of smoke leaping upward. Targets started winking out in large numbers, but not all of them. “No one said to cease fire!” snapped Jer over his platoon circuit. “Keep at ‘em!” His men opened up again, picking off the ones who survived the barrage.

 

They managed to beat off this wave, but more were coming. Working with the artillery Jer and his platoon fended them off, but it wasn’t easy. Jer glanced at two of the float sleds, the ones where they stored the mines. He wished they had time to plants some of _those_ , but for this exercise they weren’t allowed to.

 

It went on for another fifteen minutes and then a new message arrived: “Incoming! We have incoming fire! Second platoon engage!” A swarm of fast moving blips was on Jer’s tactical display, closing rapidly on the company’s position. Jer had no time to see what the Air Defense Platoon was doing since there was no let-up in the number of ground attackers still coming on, but the new swarm of blips diminished in number rapidly so clearly they were doing something.

 

Another ten minutes went by and Jer felt exhausted even though he had done little but crouch in the gully and issue orders. Sergeant Shusterman was circulating between the squads, but Jer stayed put like he was supposed to.

 

Finally they got a break and the attacks dwindled to almost nothing. Were they done? No, not quite.

 

“Oh crap,” hissed Jer. Nine large blips appeared on his sensors. Heavy tanks. None of the company’s weapons were likely able to hurt them. What was he supposed to do?

 

“Okay, time to go people,” said Andronov suddenly. “Our shuttles are inbound and we will withdraw. Second platoon will go first, First platoon will deliver a full salvo to cover us and then they go. Mr. Naddel, you will be the last to pull out. Give a full-power volley with your guns and then scram. Everyone understand?”

 

“Yes sir!” _Full power? Yee ha!_ He’d never had a chance to do that before!

 

New blips were appearing on his display and for once they denoted things that really existed: the assault shuttles coming to pick them up. Nine of them all told, three for each platoon. “Plasma and missile men, fall back for pick-up! Rail gunners, set your weapons for full power.” A chorus of acknowledgements came over his com. The rail gunners sounded as excited as he felt.

 

But First Platoon got the first crack. A salvo of missiles, much larger than any of the others streaked away from their position and a few moments later the whole valley disappeared in flame and smoke. Shuttles were landing now and Jer’s tactical display showed Second Platoon disappearing into them. First Platoon, their job done, was falling back to their shuttles, too. Sergeant Shusterman was ushering the spare float sleds back toward where Third Platoon’s shuttles were landing. Like clockwork.

 

“All right, stand by…” said Jer.

 

“Fire!”

 

The rail guns let loose and their thunderbolts made the prior fire seem like a handful of firecrackers. The incredibly powerful magnetic fields inside the guns accelerated the three-kilogram slugs up to a velocity of almost two hundred kilometers per second. As the rounds left the guns their outer layers instantly began to vaporize from air friction. A pair of bright red beams of light appeared, linking the guns to the cliffs at the far end of the valley. Two large explosions blasted outward from those cliffs and a small avalanche of stone came sliding down. A batch of smaller explosions accompanied the first two as the rail gunners from the other two squads joined in. _Wow…_

 

“Time to go, sir,’ said Sergeant Shusterman, who had materialized next to him.

 

“Right! Okay, that’s it! Fall back! Get aboard!” His men started dashing to the rear and the crews of the two heavy rail guns directed the float sleds toward the waiting shuttles. Despite his elation at all the mayhem he’d unleashed, Jer grimly reflected that if there had _really_ been a battalion of heavy tanks in that valley, then every one of these assault shuttles would be blasted out of the sky before they could get a kilometer away. Oh well, this had been fun anyway.

 

Jer was the last one aboard and the shuttle lifted off even before the rear ramp was closed. He had to grab the shoulder of one of his men to keep from falling out. He staggered over to a seat and strapped himself in. “Well done, everyone,” he said. Jer was still getting to know the men of his platoon, but they seemed to be in high spirits. Nothing like blowing shit up to put a trooper in a good mood!

 

Fifteen minutes later they landed at the base and the next three hours were spent in checking and storing their equipment, changing into their fatigues and then, for the officers and NCOs, getting debriefed by Captain Andronov. The captain seemed moderately pleased at their performance, but naturally had criticisms and corrections for each of them. Jer had learned to never take such things personally and just filed the information away for future use.

 

After that, he spent the rest of the afternoon in the company office composing his own after-action report of the day’s exercise. He thought it had gone well, although he had to admit that with no one shooting back at them, its value was limited. And, of course they couldn’t do things like this very often due to the expense. He’d noticed the skepticism of some of the officers about the new simulator facility that Alby was working on, but the simulators were far more realistic than what they’d done today. And considering that they’d shot off about a hundred thousand marks worth of ordnance in the exercise, there would have to be some savings over the long run. _I wonder how Alby’s making out with that?_

 

* * *

 

 

“If you put the roof panels on now it will restrict access to the data raceways!”

 

“If I don’t start putting the roof panels on now your damn raceways will be full of snow instead of cables!”

 

“Snow? It won’t be snowing for months!”

 

“All right, rain then. We have to get the building weather-tight before the bad weather comes! I’d think you’d want to keep all your fancy gear dry.”

 

“Can’t you rig some waterproof tarps or something?”

 

“There’s nothing in my budget to cover that!”

 

“Well, there’s nothing in _my_ budget to cover the extra hours it will take to lay the cables if the roof panels are in the way!”

 

Alby sighed silently and tried to resist the urge to reach across the table and crack a couple of heads together. This seemed like a daily ritual: the manager in charge of constructing the simulator building and the manager in charge of installing the simulators at loggerheads over one point or another. Alby glanced at Lieutenant Pflugfelter, the guy who was supposed to be in charge of the entire project. As usual, he was just sitting there, doing nothing to straighten things out. Of course Alby had to admit that since both of the managers were civilians, there was a limit to what Pflugfelter could do.

 

“Perhaps the Quartermaster could lend us some tarps and the engineers could rig them up,” suggested Alby.

 

“I don’t know…” said Pflugfelter, looking uncertain.

 

“Why not?” persisted Alby. “I see them doing it all the time to protect piles of equipment out by the landing fields. Everything in that building is government property, and if it needs protection from the elements this ought to be routine.”

 

“Uh, the engineers don’t have the security clearance to be on the work site.”

 

“Oh, so that’s why we have civilian workers doing this? Can’t trust the military?” Alby let the irony drip into his voice, but Pflugfelter seemed oblivious.

 

“The regulations don’t make any exceptions.”

 

Alby rolled his eyes. There was nothing secret about any of this technology. It was commonplace throughout the Wormhole Nexus. “Well, perhaps if the Quartermaster can supply the tarp, Mr. Hale’s boys can rig them up and give Mr. Klemperer’s people the time they need on those raceways?” He nodded toward the two contractors.

 

They argued and kicked it around for a half hour before finally agreeing, but in the end they did agree and the meeting wrapped up—with half a dozen other items on the agenda untouched. Pflugfelter seemed pleased. “I thought that went pretty well, don’t you think?”

 

“Better than a lot of our meetings, yeah,” admitted Alby.

 

“How are you coming on your software review?”

 

“I had it finished a week ago. Now we just need some hardware to install it in.”

 

“It’ll get here, don’t worry.” As far as Alby could see, Pflugfelter had no real desire to see the project completed. It was a cushy job and once it _was_ done it would go down in his records as a successful project. He found the man’s attitude exasperating at times.

 

“Well, almost quitting time,” said Alby. “See you tomorrow.”

 

“Stay a minute, Vorsworth,” said Pflugfelter, raising his hand. “Been meaning to talk to you. You’re pretty tight with that Payne girl, aren’t you?”

 

“We’ve been friends since our plebe year,” replied Alby cautiously.

 

“Friends or _friends_?” asked Pflugfelter, not quite leering.

 

“What the hell do you mean by that? Sir.” Alby frowned at the man.

 

“Oh, nothing, nothing. Just been hearing some pretty… interesting rumors.”

 

“Like what?”

 

“Oh like that she _slept_ her way through the Academy, if you know what I mean.”

 

Alby’s mouth fell open and his hands were clenched in fists. “That’s a damn lie! Sir.”

 

“Really? I’ve got it from a reliable source that she’s sleeping with that Komarran fellow.”

 

“That… that started after they graduated,” sputtered Alby. “Nothing against the regulations in that!”

 

“Huh, well, if you say so, Vorsworth. I suppose you’d be in a position to know.”

 

“She was an outstanding cadet—and a hero! And now she’s a damn fine officer! You can tell _that_ to your ‘reliable source’!”

 

“Calm down, old man! Not trying to start an argument. Was just curious, that’s all. Well, see you tomorrow.” Pflugfelter sauntered off, leaving Alby fuming.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Jer was on his way back to his quarters to get ready for dress parade. He’d finished his report and sent it off to the Captain. He hadn’t seen Anny all day and she wasn’t there now, either. He knew that they’d been incredibly lucky to be assigned to the same regiment, but their luck had run out about being assigned to the same battalion. Their duties would often keep them apart and it was only going to get worse. 1st Battalion—and Anny—were scheduled to be assigned ship duty next year and she might be gone for six or eight months. And then after she got back, his own battalion would probably ship out. They might not see each other for a year or more. He didn’t like that at all.

 

Well, he reminded himself as he did often, that he hadn’t joined the Imperial Forces in order to fall in love. He and Anny would just have to take what time they were given and be grateful for it.

 

He did see her for a few moments before dress parade but they had no time to talk. The parade was routine except that at the end, when Colonel Fetherbay was addressing the officers he said: “Oh, as I’m sure most of you have heard, the reservists of the 139th will be arriving the week after next for their annual refresher training. As usual things will be a bit of a madhouse and we may be asked to provide assistance on short notice. I’m also informed that Brigadier Vorsilva is planning a major exercise with the whole brigade as part of the 139th’s stay here. I don’t have any details of that yet, but I will keep you posted. All right, that’s all for now, dismissed.”

 

As the formation broke up, Anny had to dash off somewhere. She said she’d see him at dinner. He hadn’t seen Alby at the parade at all, so Jer joined the general clump of officers heading for the mess. They were all discussing the upcoming arrival of the reservists.

 

“Ah yes, the circus is coming to town, gentlemen!” said Lieutenant Haskell of F Company. “Two-headed chickens and dancing bears will be in the streets!” Jer laughed along with the others, but then he asked:

 

“Will it be as bad as all that?”

 

“Who said anything about it being bad?” quipped another officer. “It’ll be the most fun we see here all year.”

 

“The troops themselves aren’t all that bad,” said Captain Voring, the commander of E Company. “At least the younger ones who haven’t been away from the regulars all that long. No, what Mr. Haskell was referring to was all the camp followers who will be flocking into the town. It seems like half the troops bring their families with them for the month. Like it was some damn vacation. They set up tent cities on the outskirts.”

 

“And not just the families!” exclaimed someone else. “Gamblers, hucksters, and half the frills on the planet show up to ply their trade with the troops who _don’t_ bring their families.”

 

“That’s probably why most of the women follow their men here,” chuckled Haskell, “to keep them away from the frills!” Everyone laughed again.

 

“Some of the girls aren’t bad, I hear” ventured an ensign from G Company. “At least a change from the batch that live in town.”

 

“Planning to give them a try?”

 

“Why not?” said someone else. “Considering how few prospects we poor unmarried men find here in the wilderness and with Vorbarr Sultana so far away, we quite look forward to this.”

 

A flurry of ribald comments followed that had them all laughing. Well, nearly all, some of the married officers whose wives had come to see the dress parade as they often did had drifted away from their raucous unmarried comrades.

 

They reached the Regimental Mess and went inside. Jer got a beer and stood near the bar and waited for Anny to arrive. The cost of belonging to the mess was not trivial, but at least it almost guaranteed that he and Anny would share at least one meal a day. The other officers were milling about, drinking, and still making jokes about the upcoming arrival of the reservists and their camp followers. Jer had to admit that it did sound like quit a show.

 

“Of course we won’t be needin’ the local frills much longer!” said one overly loud voice. “I hear they’ll be issuin’ us our own before long!” Jer looked and saw that it was Lieutenant Vorkerkas, the commander of 1st Platoon in his own H Company. The man was looking right at him and Jer froze. “Right, Naddel?”

 

A few men laughed, but it died away and the general noise level in the mess dropped off to almost nothing. Jer met Vorkerkas’ eyes for a few moments longer and then turned away, hoping he’d just misunderstood, but fearing he hadn’t.

 

“Don’t turn your back on me, Komarran!” said Vorkerkas. “I asked you a question!” Jer turned back to face him.

 

“Hey, calm down, Adrien,” said another man who slapped Vorkerkas on the shoulder but the man shook him off. He’d clearly wasted no time downing a few drinks and he wasn’t drinking beer. It had been pretty obvious to Jer during the last few weeks that the man didn’t particularly like him, but he’d never given him any trouble before either. What was this?

 

“I asked Naddel a question and I expect an answer!”

 

Jer glanced around the room, but all the senior officers seemed to have disappeared. “I… I’m afraid I don’t understand the lieutenant’s question,” said Jer as evenly as he could.

 

“It’s simple enough: as the first man in the regiment to be issued his own frill, I just wanted to know how she is. I imagine she must be _very_ experienced after four years at the Academy.” Vorkerkas had a leer on his face. “I hear they’re training a whole lot more. I hope they don’t forget us when they start handing them out!”

 

Jer was well aware that ‘frill’ was the Barrayaran equivalent of ‘whore’, but somehow the word didn’t have the same sort of power. Even so, he was furious inside. This jackass had just called Anny a whore! He supposed that by this time pretty much everyone knew that he and Anny were sleeping together, but he hadn’t expected anything like this! He slowly set his glass on the bar and clenched his fists…

 

“Lieutenant Vorkerkas, if your remarks are in reference to Lieutenant Andreanne Payne, then I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to step outside.”

 

Everyone twitched—including Jer, because the words weren’t his, although they nearly had been. Alby Vorsworth had silently entered the mess and now he was standing a few meters from Vorkerkas and he looked as furious as Jer felt. Vorkerkas spun around and goggled at Alby for a moment. Finally he said: “Beat it, Vorsworth. This is none of your business.”

 

“When you insult a fellow officer—and my friend—I’ll make it my business. You owe Lieutenant Naddel and Lieutenant Payne an apology.”

 

Vorkerkas snorted derisively. “I’ll see you in hell first.”

 

“That can be arranged.” Alby took a step forward, looking angrier than Jer had ever seen him. His own anger was still there, but it took back seat to his amazement at Alby’s words and actions.

 

“Okay, that’s enough!” said Captain Andronov, coming forward. “Simmer down, both of you!”

 

Alby still looked angry, but he backed off a step. Vorkerkas sniffed and said: “What’s with you, Vorsworth? You screwing her, too?”

 

Alby gave an angry cry and flung himself at Vorkerkas, but he was intercepted and held back by several of the other officers. “Shut up, you bastard!” This set Vorkerkas off and he lunged forward until he too was restrained.

 

“All right! All right! What the devil is going on here?” Jer looked and saw that Major Waski had appeared and was pushing his way through the crowd. “Well?” he demanded when he reached the front. There was an awkward silence.

 

“Uh, nothing, sir, nothing going on at all,” said Jer.

 

“Good! Keep it that way!” snapped Waski. Jer moved over and took Alby by the arm and led him away. The other officers relaxed and dispersed. Vorkerkas sent a nasty glare his way, but Jer ignored it.

 

“That miserable son-of-a-bitch!” hissed Alby. “How dare he talk about Anny that way!” He stared at Jer. “And how come I’m not holding you back instead of vice versa?”

 

“Well, you were doing such a good job I didn’t want to get in your way.” He continued to haul Alby toward the door but stopped in his tracks when he saw Anny standing in front of him. She had a look of great confusion on her face.

 

“What happened?” she asked.

 

“I’ll tell you later.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“I was afraid something like this might happen.”

 

Jer looked at Anny, snuggled against him, and ran his hand down her bare shoulder and along her arm. Her face was very serious and that wasn’t right considering what they’d just been doing. “Well, there’s not much we can do about it now. Even if we stopped seeing each other everyone would assume we still were.”

 

“I don’t want to stop seeing you. And it’s no one’s business if we do!”

 

“No, it isn’t. Still, I can see why some of them might be upset.”

 

“Really? Why?”

 

“Well, the prospects of finding female companionship on the edge of the wilderness aren’t very good and here I am bunking with the most beautiful woman in the known universe. Might tend to make them a tad jealous.” That got a smile out of her and Jer grinned and kissed her. But then her smile faded again and she let out a long sigh.

 

“All those years at the Academy, acting like the Maiden of the Lake, I had just hoped that once we were graduated… hell. Guess I should have known better.”

 

“You’re still blazing the trail, Anny, and I guess you always will be,” said Jer, holding her a little closer. “Everything you do will always be a first. First woman at the Academy, first woman in combat, first woman decorated for gallantry… first woman officer with a lover…”

 

“First woman officer to get married?” Anny’s green eyes were very large and staring right into his.

 

“Are you proposing to me?”

 

“I…” she looked away. “No, not… not yet.”

 

“Well don’t wait too long or Alby and Abbie will beat us to it and your record will be broken!” He laughed and after a moment she did, too.

 

“Do you want to get married?” she asked.

 

“To you? Yes. Right now? I’m not sure.”

 

She clutched him tightly and rubbed her face against his chest for a moment and then pulled back to look at him. “Thank you,” she whispered.

 

“For what?”

 

“For not… demanding anything from me.” He didn’t say anything but he smiled and kissed her on the forehead.

 

“I do want to marry you, Jer, it’s just that… that…”

 

“Your career comes first. I understand.”

 

“Oh, it sounds so selfish when you put it that way, but yes, I guess there’s no getting around it.”

 

“Anny, you don’t have to make any apologies. Not to me. I saw what you had to go through at the Academy, saw how hard you fought and how you’d never give up no matter what all the jerks tried to do to get you to quit. Why do you think I love you so much, girl? I’m sure not going to expect you to give it up now. Not for anyone… even me. I can wait. I waited for four years and I can wait for four more. Or forty if that’s what it takes.”

 

“I hope it won’t be that long! But right now… I’ve looked over every word of the regulations concerning married personnel and it’s all so damn vague! Naturally they are all written with the idea of a male soldier and a female spouse, but there’s all this stuff in there about keeping wives and dependents out of combat zones. It makes sense if there are no women soldiers, but if someone was really out to get me, they could use those same regs to get me banned from any sort of combat duty if I was married. Maybe I’m just paranoid…”

 

“Not that you have any reason to be!” snorted Jer.

 

Anny responded with a snort of her own. “Yeah. But anyway, right now I just don’t know if we can risk it, Jer.”

 

“Like I said: I can wait if you can. And once some of the other women start getting their commissions, the regulations are going to have to get clarified eventually.”

 

“Yeah… do you think there will be any more trouble like you had with Vorkerkas tonight?”

 

“Hard to say. Alby had a run-in early today with his co-worker, but he said it wasn’t serious. Have you had any trouble at your end about this?”

 

“Not so far. Of course now I’m going to be looking at everything everyone says looking for hidden meanings…”

 

“Yeah. But you know there is one thing we _could_ do.”

 

“What?”

 

“Get off the base. Out of the BOQ. Get a place in town even if we do have to allow Alby to subsidize it.”

 

Anny sighed. “Yes, that might be best. It won’t solve all the problems, but it still might be best. Let’s talk to him.”

 

“In the morning,” said Jer, pulling her close again.

 

“Yes, in the morning.”

 

 

**Chapter 5**

 

 **T** he blade flashed past Anny’s face as she twisted aside. Before she could recover, another attack came at her and she barely managed to beat it away with her own sword. Her opponent was fast and skilled and he knew he had her off balance. The attacks came faster and faster and Anny fell back, desperately fending them off, but with no chance to counterattack. She was strong and with great reflexes, but she had little experience in this sort of fighting. Her opponent’s blade was like some living thing, moving almost faster than she could see. Sweat trickled down the side of her face and she retreated step by step.

 

Finally the inevitable happened and the blunt tip of her opponent’s blade slid past her defenses and jabbed her solidly in the thick padding of her jacket. A buzzer sounded inside her safety helmet and she lowered her sword with a sigh of frustration. “Well done, ensign,” she said. “A good touch.”

 

“You didn’t do bad yourself,” said Ensign Vorgard. “For a beginner.” He pulled off his helmet and grinned at her.

 

“You’ve only been with the regiment a little over a year yourself. You’ve sure learned a lot in that time!”

 

“Oh, my da had me taking fencing lessons before I was ten, Lieutenant,” said Vorgard making an elaborate sweep of his blade. “I didn’t pick this all up here!”

 

“Ah, I see,” said Anny feeling a bit better. “Then I shall count myself fortunate getting lessons from you.”

 

“My pleasure, sir.” Vorgard made a formal salute with the sword. “Same time next week?”

 

“Uh, sure. See you then.” Vorberg nodded at her and headed for the locker rooms. Anny went over to one of the benches and sat down, watching the other pairs working out. _Fencing!_ When she’d been with the 42nd Infantry, they had been close-combat-mad and had competitions and a regimental champion and Anny had assumed that the 61st would be the same. Wrong! Here it was fencing. Or they called it fencing, but it was not just swords; they competed with a wide variety of edged and non-edged weapons. Foils, epees, sabres, battle axes, quarterstaffs, halberds, you name it. And it wasn’t just ritualized combat like she was doing here, some of it was serious: combat training in power armor with toned-down versions of the hammers and maces the ordnance sergeant had shown her.

 

That meant this was all mandatory. Not just the training, but the other competitive fencing, too. Two nights each week, the officers’ gymnasium was converted to a fencing salle. Everyone was expected to participate and anyone with any real skill had to be on the teams that the regiment boasted. There were competitions and tournaments with other regiments and with teams from private clubs and schools. It had been like that at the Academy with the sports teams, too, of course. Soccer, thugby, crossball, and fencing, too, there were teams for all of them. But for some reason no one had even asked Anny to try out for those teams and for once she had been more than happy to be excluded. She had had better things to do with her time. Poor Patric Mederov had been a natural for thugby and he’d nearly flunked out due to demands it had put on his time.

 

But here in the 61st it was a matter of regimental tradition. The original Vorlinton Guards, centuries earlier, had once made a legendary bayonet charge which had broken the enemy and won the battle and forever after they’d prided themselves in that. It was the whole ‘give them the cold steel!’ thing and there was no escaping it. Anny wasn’t even sure she wanted to escape it. She’d only had a few sessions so far but it did look like some of it might be fun. More fun than close-combat, anyway. And she had been looking for a way to become a part of things…

 

“Care to give me a touch, Lieutenant?” Anny looked to her right and saw several men in fencing gear looking back at her. The one who’d spoken looked familiar somehow.

 

She stood up. “Uh, sure, Mister…”

 

“Vorkerkas, Adrien Vorkerkas at your service.” He made a tiny bow. A chill went through Anny. This was the jerk who’d nearly started a fight with Jer and Alby a few days earlier. Somehow she couldn’t believe this was just a chance encounter. But it was too late to back out now. Vorkerkas led the way to an unoccupied _piste_ and Anny followed. For some reason a half-dozen other men trailed along. _I don’t think I like this…_

 

They took their positions and immediately Vorkerkas attacked. She managed to fend him off for a while but eventually he scored on her with a hard thrust. Her jacket was padded, but it still hurt a bit. She’d been told that the padding was deliberately left thin enough to punish the fencer when scored upon. “Well done,” she said.

 

“You’d do better if you kept your elbow more in line with your body,” suggested one of the watchers with a grin.

 

“I think he’s right,” said Vorkerkas. “Again?”

 

Were they looking for her to give up and quit? “Why not?”

 

They went at it again and she managed to hold him off longer this time, but he still scored on her in the end. “Best of five?” asked Vorkerkas. She nodded. The next round Anny found her rhythm and did better, attacking as well as defending. This seemed to surprise Vorkerkas and he was surprised even more when she darted her foil past him to score a touch. This produced several guffaws from the audience, which had grown.

 

“Two to one,” said Anny.

 

“Yes,” said Vorkerkas. “En garde.”

 

This round went on quite a while with Anny and her opponent advancing and retreating up and down the _piste_. He was clearly much more experienced, but she had an edge in speed and reflexes, she thought. And several times he could have scored on her except that he made exaggerated lunges that delayed him just long enough for her to twist aside. But if they had landed… was he deliberately trying to hurt her? She watched for him to do it again. When he did, she was ready. She deflected his thrust and then instantly counterattacked and scored. “Two-all,” she said, trying not to grin.

 

“Yes,” said Vorkerkas, stepping back. “For the match, then.” He came at her again. Back and forth they went, thrusting and parrying. Then Vorkerkas lunged again. Anny partially deflected his blade but it caught her on the upper arm and a jolt of pain yanked a gasp from her as his sword bent nearly double. The speaker in her helmet gave a sharp ping instead of a buzz.

 

“Not a touch, Adrien,” chuckled one of the watchers. “Outside the target zone. Still Two-all.”

 

Vorkerkas stepped away and saluted with his weapon. “You’re quite good with the foil, Lieutenant. But I prefer the sabre, myself. Are you game?”

 

Anny hesitated. The sabre was a different weapon with a different set of rules. You could score with the sides of the blade, not just the point, and the whole body above the waist was a legal target. She’d only tried the sabre a few times in her earlier sessions.

 

“Of course, I understand if you’d rather not. The sabre really is a man’s weapon.” Vorkerkas was smirking now.

 

Anny rubbed her arm and frowned. She’d faced shit like this at the Academy often enough to recognize it. He was deliberately goading her. And he could probably make mincemeat out of her with a sabre. She should just claim fatigue and walk away… _Damn it…_ “I’d be happy to give it a try, sir.”

 

“Good! Good!” He grinned broadly and one of the officers produced a pair of sabres almost instantly. Obviously this had been planned. But why? She glanced around at the watching officers. No one from her company, no one that she knew very well… _Wait, there’s Sven Estaban…_ The man she’d met her first day here was looking at her with an odd expression. When he saw her looking at him, he turned and moved quickly away. “Ready?” asked Vorkerkas.

 

She squared off and Vorkerkas came at her. She decided to concentrate strictly on the defense for now and initially she was successful. Vorkerkas’ sword came at her from the front, sides, high, low, but she managed to deflect or dodge each strike. He deliberately left himself open to counterattacks several times, but she suspected it was a trap and didn’t take the bait. But by not attacking she was leaving Vorkerkas free to plan his attacks carefully and finally he got past her guard and whacked her upper arm painfully. “Hurts a bit, doesn’t it?” he chuckled. “Something you have to get used to, Payne.” He stopped and chuckled again. “Pain for Payne! I rather like that!” Several of the others laughed. _Yeah, I bet you do!_ Anny held her anger in check and took the ready position.

 

This time she made a few attacks of her own but Vorkerkas easily blocked them. The movements with the sabre were entirely different from those with the foil and she’d barely ever practiced them. Vorkerkas clearly had. _I don’t have a chance here. Maybe I should just let him have his three touches and call it quits…_

 

Suddenly Vorkerkas struck low and slashed across her upper thigh. _Ow!_ The sabre’s edges weren’t sharpened, but it still felt like a whiplash despite her protective trousers. The speaker in her helmet pinged. Below the waist wasn’t a legal target.

 

“Sorry about that,” said Vorkerkas. But he didn’t look the least bit sorry.

 

They continued and shortly he managed to slash her other thigh. The first hit was burning like fire and this one was just as bad. “Heavens, I’m out of practice,” smirked Vorkerkas. “I better be more careful or this match could take all night.”

 

And that was just what he wanted! Yes, she could see it now: he’d deliberately keep striking her in illegal spots and drag this out as long as he possibly could. Until she quit.

 

Or until she won.

 

But she quickly saw that there was no chance of that. He was just too good. Even after she was expecting the low attacks, she wasn’t able to take advantage of it and score on him. She started concentrating on defending her legs even though that meant exposing her upper body. She was hoping he’d make the scoring touches and end this one-sided contest, but he didn’t. He just wanted to hurt her. Why? What had she ever done to him? _When did they ever need a reason?_ Her thoughts went back to her first year at the Academy…

 

Vorkerkas’ blade darted to one side and Anny twisted to avoid it, but then in a blur of movement he brought it around to her other side and savagely slashed it across her exposed backside.

 

“Oh nicely done!” cried one of the watchers.

 

“Well placed!” said another. The watchers all laughed.

 

“Oops,” said Vorkerkas, grinning.

 

The pain was so intense that Anny had to bite her lip and blink furiously to keep the tears from dripping down her cheeks. Damn! What the hell was she going to…?

 

“Lieutenant Payne? Is Lieutenant Payne here?” A raised voice attracted everyone’s attention.

 

“Over here,” she gasped.

 

An enlisted man pushed through the crowd of watchers and she was surprised to see that it was Private Kerbeck from her platoon. “Oh, there you are, Lieutenant!”

 

“What is it, Private?”

 

“Sergeant Kay needs you at the company office right away, sir. Some sort of emergency.”

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

“Don’t know. He just said to come get you ASAP.”

 

“All right, I’m coming.” She looked at Vorkerkas, who was frowning. She tossed him her sabre and he caught it. “Sorry, Lieutenant, duty calls. We’ll have to continue this another time.”

 

Vorkerkas nodded. “Yes, another time.”

 

Anny hobbled over to her locker and pulled off her protective gear and stuffed them inside. She was wearing her fatigues underneath. She put on her cap and followed Kerbeck out of the gym. She tried not to limp, but Kerbeck slowed his pace to match the best she could do. “You all right, sir?” he asked.

 

“Fine.”

 

“Bastards,” muttered Kerbeck.

 

“What was that, Private?”

 

“Nothing, sir.”

 

“Didn’t think so.”

 

By the time they reached the C Company barracks, she was able to walk almost normally. She went up the short flight of steps and into the company HQ office. Sergeant Kay was there with a couple of the other sergeants. “What’s the emergency, Sergeant?” she asked. Kay jumped to his feet.

 

“Oh, sorry sir! False alarm! Sorry to call you here for no reason. I should have commed you after I sent off Kerbeck to fetch you.”

 

Anny stood there and stared at him for a moment, a frown growing on her face. “Why did you think you needed to send for me in the first place?”

 

Kay reddened. “Uh, it was nothing sir. I thought that… well you see… nothing, sir! Nothing at all!”

 

“Well! Almost lights out,” declared one of the other sergeants suddenly.

 

“Yeah. Big day tomorrow,” said another. “G’night, Lieutenant.”

 

“I better check on the boys, sir,” said Kay. “See you tomorrow.” He went past her out the door. Kerbeck had already vanished.

 

 _What the hell was that about? Did they deliberately try to get me away from Vorkerkas and his cronies? How could they have known…?_ Estaban? Had he tipped off her men? A smile slowly grew on her face.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“I’m gonna break his neck!” snarled Jer. “Look at this!”

 

“Can’t,” murmured Anny. “M’head doesn’t turn that far. But don’t stop.”

 

“Hedonist.”

 

“You bet. Mmmm…”

 

Anny was lying face-down on Jer’s bed without a stitch on. He was tending her wounds and if the welt and bruises on her ass were anything like the ones on her thighs and arm they must be spectacular indeed. But Jer was rubbing in a healing ointment and at the moment she was feeling just fine.

 

“Seriously! You ought to bring Vorkerkas up on charges!”

 

“For what? Sabre practice? I agreed to fence against him and I could have quit at any time. Not exactly enough to court martial him, Jer.”

 

“He knew you wouldn’t quit! He was counting on it!”

 

“Yup. And I walked right into it. I ought to bring myself up on charges for gross stupidity.”

 

“How can you not be upset?”

 

“With you doing what you’re doing? Right now I couldn’t be upset with anything. Mmmm…. Don’t think he hit me there, but keep going.”

 

Jer snorted, but did what he was told. “This is just like our first close-combat session at the Academy. Remember? That was a set-up, too.”

 

“Yup. Except this time I made it out with no broken bones and not under arrest. See, I’m improving.”

 

“Yeah, right. By the time you make general you might be able to join a new unit without mussing a hair! But it was lucky you got called away.”

 

“If it was luck. I’m thinking maybe it wasn’t.”

 

“Estaban?”

 

“Don’t know who else could have tipped off my men.”

 

“Well, he is an okay guy, I guess…” admitted Jer, grudgingly.

 

Anny laughed. “Don’t be jealous! I doubt he could do this half as good as you are. Mmmm, doubt anyone could…” Jer’s hands had now strayed well out of the damage area.

 

“But I still don’t see what Vorkerkas is after,” persisted Jer. “He tried to pick a fight with me and then he does this to you. And yes, I know he doesn’t need a reason. But we need to be on our guard, Anny. I doubt he’ll give up.”

 

“Well, we won’t either.” She rolled over and grabbed him. “Now shut up and kiss me. We can talk about this later!”

 

 

* * *

 

 

_“The finest were Vorlinton’s Guard; The Sixty-First is just as hard; Our arms we wield from star to star Far from the hills of Barrayar. Far from the hills and skies of home, We’ll strike at planet, ship or dome; From Cetaganda to Escobar, Far from the hills of Barrayar.”_

Anny listened to the men singing and felt the hairs on the back of her neck standing up. Over sixteen hundred men, slightly out of sync because of the long column, and slightly out of tune because some of them couldn’t sing worth a damn, but it was still splendid. The regimental band drowned out the worst of the sour notes as the men roared out the Regiment’s marching song. _“The Colonel said: Give them your steel!_

_And we crushed the foes beneath our heel;_

_We’ll crush our foes both near and far;_

_For the Emperor! For Barrayar!_

_Far from the hills and skies of home, We’ll strike at planet, ship or dome; From Cetaganda to Escobar, Far from the hills of Barrayar.”_

She had heard bits and pieces of the song from time to time, but this was the first time she’d heard it sung like this. She found herself listening closely. There had been a notation in the regimental handbook reminding people that the _old_ version of the song was still banned. A little research had revealed the next-to-last line of each verse used to go: _From Cetaganda to Komarr,_ but for political reasons that had been changed to the present version. Supposedly some troops would still sing the old version, but she didn’t hear anyone doing that today. __  
  


_“Be at the ready, on your marks; Precise as scalpels, fierce as arcs.       For nothing must our honor mar Learned in the hills of Barrayar. Far from the hills and skies of home, We’ll strike at planet, ship or dome; From Cetaganda to Escobar, Far from the hills of Barrayar.”_

 

The tune was taken from an old, old folk song that Anny had heard a hundred times, but it was catchy and stuck in your head. She found herself singing along with the rest.

 

_“Send us your best to do their worst, They'll break upon the Sixty-First. And when we're done, we'll leap afar Back to the hills of Barrayar. Back to the hills and skies of home, Done with our march, no more to roam; From Cetaganda and Escobar, Back to the hills of Barrayar.”*_

 

The song ended and the band took up another march, drums pounding and fifes trilling, as the regiment moved onto the parade ground. The column—band, regimental headquarters, and 1st and 2nd battalions—stretched over half a kilometer from the barracks. Everyone was in their dress greens. There were a lot of people already there waiting for them. Three of the behemoths of the 283rd were lined up at the south end of the field and the crews and support personnel arrayed around them. At the north end were the vehicles, guns and crews of the 32nd Artillery and arrayed between the tanks and the guns, along the west side of the field were the men of the 139th Infantry. The reservists had arrived that morning and after a day getting settled in, they were now on the field with all the other units of the 25th Brigade.

 

The 61st moved across the field and formed its line in front of the 139th, facing a raised platform that had been erected on the field’s east side. The brigade commander, General Vorsilva, would be there with his staff. To the right of the platform were several of the smaller units attached to the brigade: engineers, medical and service personnel. All around the field was a huge crowd of civilian spectators. Apparently the rumors had been right: the 139th had brought their families.

 

“Battalions… Halt!” shouted out Colonel Fetherbay in a roar that Anny envied. The band stopped playing and everyone halted. “Front!” Everyone faced to the left and there was a commendably small amount of shuffling around as the ranks were dressed. “Order… Arms! Parade… Rest!” Anny lowered her sword and rested her hands on the hilt. She was in the rank of file closers, directly behind her platoon and she looked over her men with satisfaction.

 

She still hadn’t been able to drag the truth out of Sergeant Kay about how he’d known to send Kerbeck to ‘rescue’ her from Vorkerkas last week, but she supposed it didn’t really matter. What was important was that they _had_ saved her. Their lieutenant was in a bind and they’d come get her. They didn’t have to—it wasn’t a combat situation or their responsibility in any way—but they had. They were accepting her and that’s what counted. She felt a warm glow inside.

 

The General was supposed to give some sort of speech, but there seemed to be a delay and she could see people scurrying around on the platform. Hurry up and wait. It didn’t really bother her anymore. She looked to left in hopes of catching sight of Jer with 2nd Battalion, but she couldn’t see him. Alby was with the regimental staff.

 

A distant rumble caught her attention and she glanced behind her. The weather forecast was for thunderstorms late in the day and there had been towering clouds building up beyond the western mountains all afternoon. She hoped Vorsilva’s speech didn’t run too long or everyone was going to get soaked. Or hit by lightning.

 

Finally things got straightened out and Vorsilva gave his speech. Anny found it uninspiring and she blanked much of it out. He was just welcoming the reservists and talking about the importance of the reserve system and how vital it was for every citizen to do their bit in defending the Imperium. She only perked her ears up when the General mentioned the large-scale exercise that would be held near the end of the 139th’s training month. That ought to be fun.

 

The thunder was getting louder and she was relieved when Vorsilva finished up and the brigade could pass in review. It was pretty impressive, really, the most troops and equipment she’d seen in one place since the parade celebrating the birth of Princess Kareen back in second year at the Academy. But the storm was coming and as each unit finished passing by the reviewing stand,they headed directly back toward their barracks. No one lingered behind and the spectators were rapidly dispersing. She just had time to dismiss her men and then sprint for the Regimental Officers Mess. A strong wind had come up, swaying the tall pines, and a few fat rain drops were splattering the ground as she went up the steps.

 

Inside it was crowded and the shelves for their hats were piled high. Swords had to be leaned against the wall because all the hanging pegs were filled. As the home regiment, the 61st was hosting the officers from all the other units. The doors between the mess and the attached gymnasium had been thrown open and extra tables set up in there. Dozens of stewards were bustling about trying to handle the influx. They’d had to set up an annex for the bar. More officers were pushing in behind her. It was pouring outside now.

 

Anny moved away from the door and through the mess into the gymnasium area which was still relatively uncrowded. Between all the officers from two infantry regiments, several battalions, and brigade headquarters, along with their wives and girlfriends, it might get very crowded indeed. She managed to find Jer and they both got beers and found a place to sit down. “How are things going?” she asked him.

 

“Not bad,” he replied. “No problems with Vorkerkas although we’re giving each other as wide a berth as we can. How about you?”

 

“Good. The platoon is in fine shape. Well mostly.”

 

“Problems?”

 

“Well, I’m worried about my platoon sergeant, Kay. He’s not really carrying the load. He tries, he’s not a deadbeat, but he just doesn’t seem to have a handle on what the job’s all about. I think it’s because his last boss was Sergeant Milroy who used to be the platoon sergeant before he was made the acting platoon commander. I suspect that Milroy couldn’t bring himself to let go and just sort of did both jobs and let Kay watch. Now I want Kay to do his job and he doesn’t know how.”

 

“Have you talked with him?”

 

Anny sighed. “Not really. I’ve hinted at it, but I don’t seem to be getting through. And… and…”

 

“And you don’t want to come down hard on him because you’re new. Yeah, I can see that. Maybe you should talk to the company first sergeant and see if he can get through to Kay. That is part of _his_ job, after all.”

 

“Yeah, maybe I should…”

 

“Ah, there you are, Lieutenant, we were looking for you.” Anny looked up and then sprang to her feet. Colonel Fetherbay was there and with him were General Vorsilva and another colonel who could only be the commander of the 139th, Colonel Downes. All three men had their wives with them.

 

“Sir.” she said. Jer was on his feet, too, but neither of them saluted. No salutes in the Mess.

 

Fetherbay smiled and then turned to Vorsilva. “General, may I present two of our new lieutenants: This is Lieutenant Payne and this is Lieutenant Naddel.”

 

“Well, no doubt which is which,” said Vorsilva, stepping forward to shake hands. He was a beefy middle-aged man with a bushy mustache and thinning hair. His dress greens had an impressive collection of decorations on the chest, too many to decipher at the moment. “Welcome to Fort Vorolson, gentlemen,” he said. “I hope you’re liking it here.”

 

“Yes, sir,” said Anny and Jer in unison.

 

“Glad to hear that. This is my wife, Penelope, and this is Colonel Downes and his wife, Janice.” Greeting were made all around and then Lady Penelope couldn’t contain herself anymore.

 

“Oh, Lieutenant Payne, I’ve just been dying to meet you! Harold didn’t even tell me you were here until last week! Can you believe it? The very first woman in the military—ever!—right here on our base! And he didn’t even tell me! And just look at you! You look just like a soldier! That’s so wonderful!” Behind Lady Penelope Anny could see Colonel Fetherbay’s wife, a nice lady named Sara, and Colonel Downes’ wife exchanging glances and rolling their eyes.

 

Lady Penelope kept rambling on and Anny kept smiling and nodding and the General’s frown kept getting darker and darker. Finally Fetherbay broke in: “General, I think I see our other new addition over there. Lieutenant Vorsworth is the grandson of Admiral Vorsworth who died two years back, as you remember. You really ought to meet him, too. He’s helping out with the new simulator project.” Anny saw Alby across the room and was tempted to yell at him to run, but restrained herself. Vorsilva managed to drag his wife away.

 

“We must have tea sometime!” she called back to her. Somewhat to Anny’s surprise—well, maybe it wasn’t so surprising after all—Colonel Fetherbay’s wife didn’t go along with the others. Anny had met her a few times in the mess, but they’d never really had a chance to talk.

 

“She means well,” said Mrs. Fetherbay, nodding at the General’s wife. “Don’t be put off by her manner. She misses the bright lights and social events of the capital, I think. You’re the only excitement to happen around here in quite a while.”

 

“If she considers me excitement, things must be _really_ dull.”

 

The woman smiled. “Well, you are rather exciting, Lieutenant. At least to some people. In fact, I wanted to ask a favor of you.”

 

“Ma’am?”

 

“We’re having a little get-together of all the officers’ wives—from all the units—next week and I was wondering if you’d be willing to come and give a little talk?”

 

“A talk?” said Anny in surprise. “What about?”

 

“Why about you, of course. Why you decided to go to the Academy. How you got there. What it was like and how you made it through. There are a lot of us who would really like to know.”

 

“I… I…” stuttered Anny, flustered. “I have duty and…”

 

“My husband has already said that you can be excused duty for this, Lieutenant.”

 

“I’ve never done anything like that, ma’am, I don’t know if I…”

 

“Lieutenant… Anny, please,” said Mrs. Fetherbay. “I have a teenage daughter. A lot of the other wives have daughters. And some of them… a lot of them are talking about you and what you’ve done. They want to know—I want to know—what they’ll face if they try to do it too.”

 

The woman looked at her so intently that Anny found herself saying yes. “Thank you, Lieutenant. I’ll get the details to you tomorrow.” She smiled and went after her husband. Anny plopped back down on her chair.

 

“Shit.”

 

Jer laughed. “What’s the matter? It might be fun.”

 

“I’ve never done any public speaking!”

 

“You do it all the time! You commanded a company of cadets and now you command a platoon of assault troopers. That’s gotta be harder than talking to a batch of women.”

 

“Easy for you to say,” she muttered. A bright flash of light came through the windows followed almost immediately by a loud crack of thunder that shook the whole building. “See? Even the gods are against it.”

 

“You’ll do fine, Anny.”

 

Shaking her head, she took a swig of her now-warm beer and tried to decide if she was hungry. Due to the large number of people, dinner was buffet-style tonight. The lines looked pretty long. Maybe she’d wait…

 

“Holy crap!” cried Alby, who suddenly appeared through the crowd. “I never thought I’d get away from her!”

 

“Lady Penelope?” smirked Jer.

 

“Yes! How’d you manage to escape her?”

 

“The General spotted you and dragged her away. We owe you one.”

 

“You certainly do!” he grabbed an empty chair and carried it over next to theirs. “But I need to talk to you two.”

 

“What about?”

 

“Vorkerkas.”

 

“Oh dear,” sighed Anny. “What now?” She glanced around, but despite the crowd, they seemed to have relative privacy in their corner.

 

“I might—might!—have figured out why he’s taken such a shine to the two of you.”

 

“Really? Why?”

 

Alby pulled out his ubiquitous computer pad and called up a display. Anny squinted and realized that it was a genealogical family tree of some sort. He pointed to one of the boxes. “Here is our dear Lieutenant Vorkerkas.”

 

“Yeah? So?” asked Jer. “According to that he _does_ have a mother and a father—who would have guessed?”

 

“Yup,” said Alby. “And a grandfather who had a sister who married into another family…” Alby touched the controls and the diagram shifted sideways revealing a bunch of other boxes. “And if you follow this other family tree down a few generations you’ll see that it dropped one seriously rotten apple.” Anny stared at the box Alby was indicating and her blood ran cold.

 

“Shit!” snarled Jer “Yosef Vorritter!”

 

The name seemed to burn into Anny’s brain like a hot iron. _Vorritter!_ He’d been a lieutenant on the frigate _Swifsure_ during a short training cruise to Komarr Anny had taken in her third year at the Academy. He’d seemed friendly and helpful, but once they’d reached Komarr… He and three friends had lured her into a tavern with plans to drug and rape her. Only the lucky arrival of Jer and Alby and Patric and Denis Fallon had saved her. Vorritter had been court-martialed, cashiered, and sent to prison. She’d tried to erase him from her memories—with no success.

 

“Vorkerkas is related to Vorritter?” demanded Jer.

 

“Second cousins, once removed,” confirmed Alby.

 

“Second cousins! I don’t even _know_ any of my second cousins! And if one of them was a criminal I sure wouldn’t hold it against his victim if he got thrown in jail! I can’t believe that he…”

 

“The Vor take stuff like this seriously, Jer,” said Anny. “Blood ties are a big deal to them.”

 

“Very big,” said Alby. “I don’t know for sure there’s a connection between this and his behavior, but there might be. And if he is out for avenge his family honor, we all need to watch out! I was just as involved in that fracas as you two.”

 

“I suppose we do. But how’d you ever think to look this up?”

 

Alby shrugged. “He’d made it pretty clear that he was our enemy, so I decided to do some intelligence-gathering. Besides I was bored out of my mind with that bloody simulator job and needed something to do.”

 

“Did you find out anything else we should know?” asked Anny. She didn’t need this. She really didn’t need this!

 

“Not so far,” replied Alby, shaking his head. “There don’t seem to be any other relatives of Vorritter serving here—although there are some others elsewhere. I did hack into Vorkerkas’ personal communications and plant a bug, so I’ll see if he’s planning anything with anyone else.”

 

“Alby, someday you are going to get caught!” Alby was a very skilled computer hacker—as he’d proved several times at the Academy.

 

Alby just grinned. But then he tapped the computer pad. “Don’t expect this to warn us if he is planning anything. We all need to be on guard. And guys? I really think we need to get off the base, out of the BOQ. I know you’re worried about the cost, but it still might be best.”

 

“I don’t know,” said Jer. “We might be safer here.”

 

“If I buy or lease a house, I can have some _real_ defenses installed,” said Alby, grinning again. “And keep in mind that it might not just be Vorkerkas. He’s got friends in the regiment. We don’t know who we can trust here.”

 

“I can trust my men and I think we can trust Estaban,” said Anny. “Maybe he’d like to go in on the house.”

 

“That’s a thought. Well, I’ll take a look again at the market and get back to you. In the meantime, let’s eat! I’m starved!” He got up and headed for the buffet.

 

Anny followed, but she wasn’t the least bit hungry.

 

 

 

            *Song by Jonathan Cresswell-Jones (with many thanks—again!)

 

 

**Chapter 6**

 

 **“D** id you… did you have to use the same _bathrooms_ as the boys?”

 

The girl’s question brought forth a gale of laughter and giggles from the other girls in the auditorium and polite chuckles from their mothers. The girl’s face blushed a bright pink and Anny sincerely hoped her face didn’t match it.

 

Sara Fetherbay had told her that the meeting was going to be only for the officers’ wives, but apparently the thing had just _growed_ of its own accord. There were easily three hundred women and girls facing her and even a few men in uniform—fathers, she presumed. One of the Fort’s auditoriums had been pressed into service to accommodate them all.

 

Anny forced herself to smile at the girl who had asked the question. She looked about twelve. “Well, not very often,” she said. “They have a separate women’s barracks at the Academy now with its own bathrooms. They’ve put women’s locker rooms in the training facilities and I understand they are adding women’s restrooms in the academic buildings, too.” The girl smiled in relief and sat down.

 

But almost immediately another woman stood up. “You said ‘not very often’, Lieutenant. I assume that means that there were times when you… did have to share the facilities with the men?”

 

“Yes, ma’am, it does. Sometimes there aren’t going to be separate facilities. Sometimes there isn’t going to be any privacy. That’s just the way it is.” An awkward silence followed and Anny decided it was about time to wrap this up. She’d been up at the podium talking and taking questions for nearly an hour. “The thing that you all have to remember is that the main purpose of the Imperial Service Academy is to train combat officers. That is a very serious thing. A matter of life and death, quite literally. Little things like bathrooms or modesty just don’t count much when compared to having the lives of your fellow soldiers in your hands. The Imperial Service Academy is one of the finest and toughest institutions of its kind in the wormhole nexus. It’s tough on purpose. Anyone who doesn’t have what it takes will not make it through and that is a good thing. But if you do have what it takes then you will find that serving the Imperium, the Emperor, and the people will be one of the most rewarding things you will ever do.” She paused and then said “Thank you very much for letting me speak to you today.” She stepped back from the podium.

 

The applause that followed seemed enthusiastic and quite sincere and Anny was touched. Mrs. Fetherbay came up and spoke for a moment, thanking Anny and all who had attended and then she escorted Anny through a door at the rear of the stage. “Well!” she said. “That went as well as I could have hoped! Thank you so much for doing this, Anny.”

 

“I hope I didn’t scare too many of them away.”

 

“The ones who really want to do it won’t be scared. And those you did scare off were never serious to begin with. That’s why I asked you to give this talk. I hear from the mothers in the Regiment all the time and ever since we got the word that you’d be coming here, their daughters have all started talking about going to the Academy. We thought a dose of cold realism would be a good thing and you provided that.”

 

“Glad I could help out. But from what I’ve seen and heard, the Academy is doing an exceptionally thorough job of screening the female applicants these days. Any girl trying to get in will probably be getting several doses of cold realism before they ever make it through the door.”

 

“Yes,” said Mrs. Fetherbay, “that’s what we’ve heard.” The woman frowned. “Anny, do you have time for a short one-on-one talk with me?”

 

Anny checked the time. “I’ve got about a half hour before I have to go and get ready for dress parade.”

 

“Oh good. That should be plenty of time. There’s an office over here where we can have some privacy.” She led the way to a small room and shut the door after them. “Anny, I couldn’t help but notice the one thing you didn’t talk about today.” Anny raised her eyebrows and gave a quizzical look. “Sex.”

 

“It’s against regulations at the Academy, ma’am.”

 

“A lot of things are against regulations but that doesn’t mean they never happen.”

 

“Well, it never happened while I was a cadet, ma’am. Not that I ever saw or heard about.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Really.”

 

“Oh,” Fetherbay looked surprised. “I… I had just heard some rumors about you and Lieutenant Naddel…”

 

“We fell in love at the Academy, but we waited until after graduation until we did anything about it, ma’am. All perfectly legal per the regulations.” Anny’s voice had become stiffer. This wasn’t any of Fetherbay’s business.

 

“I see. Well, that wasn’t really what I was concerned about, anyway,” said Fetherbay. “I’d heard some other rumors. About something that happened involving you on Komarr.”

 

Anny frowned. She’d been afraid that was where this was heading. She realized that the story was going to spread with time, but she hadn’t really thought about it spreading to civilians… “What do you want to know, ma’am? Was I raped? No. Did someone try to rape me? Yes. I don’t think I’m at liberty to tell you any more than that.”

 

“Oh dear, I’m so sorry, Anny. I had hoped that the rumors were just rumors. You see, my daughter is sixteen—you saw her there in the audience today—and she isn’t going to be scared off. She worships her father and the notion of being able to following in his footsteps has completely taken hold of her. And well, I worry about her as any parent would. Being one of just a handful of women in the service… surrounded by all those men…”

 

“I understand, ma’am. And I won’t lie to you that there’s no danger.” She paused and looked down at the floor for a moment before continuing. “I think… I think the worst of it is that you can prepare yourself mentally for being killed or hurt… or raped by the enemy. But to have it happen from someone who’s supposed to be your friend. That’s hard. You shouldn’t have to fight front and rear, but there it is.”

 

“So… so how do you? Fight front and rear, I mean?” asked Fetherbay, her eyes wide, her brow creased with worry.

 

“There were two things that got me through. One was preparation. I didn’t just walk into the Academy like a lamb to the slaughter. I worked and trained for a solid year beforehand. Physical training, close combat training, I was as prepared as I could make myself. Just having the confidence that comes from knowing you can take care of yourself will dissuade a lot of bullies right off. But the most important thing is not trying to go it alone. I was lucky—incredibly lucky—that I found a few friends right off the bat. Good friends, friends whom I could trust with my life—or my honor. I never would have made it without them. I wish I could give you better reassurances, ma’am, but when you become an officer, you pledge your life to the Empire. If you’re willing to die for the Empire then, well, you just have to accept all the rest.”

 

Fetherbay stared at her and then slowly nodded. “Thank you, Anny. For being honest. For everything. Now you better go, I wouldn’t want to make you late for dress parade.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“So what do you think?” asked Alby Vorsworth. He looked at Anny and Jer and Sven Estaban. They, in turn, were looking at the house he hoped to buy in Malverton.

 

“It looks nice from the outside,” said Anny.

 

“Nice neighborhood and close to the bus stop,” said Estaban.

 

“Can we look inside?” asked Jer.

 

“Unfortunately, no,” said Alby. “While the reservists are here every square meter of rentable space is taken. This place has three families living here right now.” Indeed, there were a half dozen children playing on the front lawn, several of them looking curiously in their direction.

 

“Once they clear out, we can go in. But I have some pictures on my computer, here, have a look.” He held up his computer pad and started bringing up images. The others crowded closer to see.

 

Too late he realized that the pictures, supplied by the realtor, had the asking price listed next to them. Anny spotted it immediately. “Alby!” she cried. “We can’t ask you to spend that much!”

 

“It’s not really that much,” he protested.

 

“It’s a lieutenant’s whole salary for six years!”

 

“Anny, I can afford it. And I can always sell it again later. Hell, I’ll probably make a nice profit.”

 

“Well, there is that,” said Jer, who had a Komarran’s eye for business. “If we pay Alby rent, he might come out pretty well in the end.”

 

“Yeah! See?”

 

Anny frowned, but didn’t offer any further protests. “How are we going to work our dog-robbers?” she asked. “It would be silly to have four of them.”

 

Alby grinned. If she was asking a question like that, it meant she was going to agree! “Quinton’s getting ready to retire and he tells me that his wife is insisting that they move somewhere where it doesn’t snow. So I can probably let him go without much trouble.”

 

“I’ve been sharing Lt. Vorquinz’s man,” said Jer. “Probably not a problem if I moved out.”

 

“Well, that just leaves Anny’s man and mine,” said Estaban. “We can probably work out a schedule for the two of them.”

 

“And I think they both live here in town anyway,” said Anny. “It’ll be easier for them.”

 

“So it’s agreed?” asked Alby.

 

“I think so,” said Estaban. The others nodded.

 

“Good! I’ll contact my realtor and have him put in a bid. A month or so and we’ll be able to move in!”

 

“A month?” said Jer. “I think that’s a bit optimistic, Alby.”

 

“All right two, then. Before winter, in any case. This is going to be great!” A thought struck him. “Maybe I’ll invite Abigail up here at Winterfair.”

 

“Abigail?” asked Estaban.

 

“Alby’s sweetheart,” smirked Jer.

 

“Oh? From back home?”

 

“She’s from Sergyar,” said Anny. “But currently her residence is the Imperial Service Academy.”

 

“What? Oh! One of _those_ , eh?”

 

“One of the Second Six,” said Jer. “A company commander, last I heard. Less than two years until she graduates, right, Alby?” He gave him a nudge.

 

“Yeah, and they’ll probably post her back to Sergyar,” said Alby, gloomily. “Never see her again.”

 

“Don’t be so pessimistic!” said Jer. “Has she said what career track she’s thinking about?”

 

“She hasn’t decided. At first she was looking at the naval track—like everyone does. But after the whole business with Anny, I think she’s reconsidered.”

 

“What ‘whole business with Anny’?” asked Estaban.

 

Alby glanced at Anny, unsure if he’d said too much, but she just shrugged. “Anny was going for the naval track and she had the grades to make it easy. But word came down from on-high that the navy wasn’t ready for women on their ships yet.”

 

“So you joined an assault regiment instead?”

 

Anny shrugged again. “I wanted to get out there and it seemed like a good way to outflank the admirals. Seems to be working so far.”

 

“Yeah, and next year you’ll get out there again when it’s 1st battalion’s turn with the fleet,” said Alby.

 

“D’you think you’ll ever get assigned to one of the battalions, Alby?” asked Anny. “That simulator project can’t last forever.”

 

“No? The way that mess is going, I might spend my whole career working on it!”

 

“As bad as that?” asked Estaban.

 

“I am not going to talk about it on my day off! Come on, let’s get lunch.” He led them back into the center of town and to a restaurant he’d been wanting to try. Once they were seated and had given their orders, Alby looked at Jer and Anny. “Any more trouble with Vorkerkas?”

 

They both glanced at Estaban. “Nothing with me,” said Jer. “But we’re so busy getting ready for the big exercise, I doubt he’d have time to cook anything up.”

 

Anny shook her head. “Nothing with me, either. And I’ve been practicing sabre with Ensign Vorgard every chance I get. If he tries that again, he’ll be in for a surprise.”

 

Estaban had been taking all this in with a very interested expression on his face. “So what is the deal between you guys and dear Lieutenant Vorkerkas?” he asked. None of them answered and Estaban’s eyebrows went up. “Gentlemen, since I seem to be throwing in my lot with you, it would be courteous of you to let me know exactly what I’m getting into here.”

 

“Vorkerkas doesn’t like us,” said Alby.

 

Estaban snorted. “Clearly. But why? Like me, Vorkerkas graduated before any of you arrived at the Academy. I’m guessing he never laid eyes on any of you before you joined the 61st. Granted that the man is a bit of an ass, but what could you possibly have done to piss him off so much in such a short time?”

 

“You’re not a Vor, Sven,” said Jer. “Surely you know they don’t need a reason to act like an ass.” He glanced toward Alby. “No offense.”

 

“None taken.”

 

“True,” said Estaban. “Yet somehow I sense there’s something more going on here than just a prejudice against women and Komarrans.”

 

Anny sighed. “Yes, there is.” She had to cut off her explanation when the waitress arrived with their food, but once she was gone, she continued. “Something happened while I was at the Academy. More serious than just the usual hazing and harassment. Four officers got court-martialed and kicked out. Vorkerkas is related to one of them. He may be out for revenge.”

 

“He _may_ be,” said Alby. “We don’t know anything for sure.”

 

“Ah,” said Estaban. “There have been some rumors floating around… interesting.”

 

“If you want to pull out of the house deal, we’ll understand,” said Anny.

 

“No… no, I’m in. I’ve been wanting to get out of the BOQ for a while now and I’d never find a place this nice on my own. Besides, I’ve had a few run-ins with Vorkerkas myself. I’m assuming you’re getting this house as a more defensible position?” They all nodded. “Well, all right then. I’m willing to stand a watch, too.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“We will start boarding the assault shuttles at 0400 tomorrow morning,” said Lieutenant Vorstang. “Have your men ready! There can be no delays on this, gentlemen, so we have to have our troops at the armory to suit up no later than 0100.”

 

They were in the C Company office. Anny and the other platoon commanders were being briefed by their commanding officer on the upcoming exercise. “Excuse me sir,” said Lieutenant Dahlberg of 1st Platoon, “Will we be getting additional information on the operation?” He held up his computer. “This briefing seems a little… thin.” Anny had been thinking the same thing. All that it really told them was that they would be simulating the spearhead of a planetary assault. They would board shuttles which would take them into orbit, circle the planet a few times and then make a landing in the northern edges of the mountains about 300 kilometers northeast of Fort Vorolson. They had a series of objectives they were then suppose to move to. But there was no information on enemy forces or friendly forces that might follow in subsequent landing. An assault regiment was usually employed to clear out a landing area so other troops could follow. Presumably the rest of the brigade would be involved, too, but there was no mention of them in the briefing.

 

“Yes, it does, doesn’t it?” said Vorstang. “But this is all we’ve got. Hopefully we’ll get more information later, but for right now our job is to get the company ready to drop first thing tomorrow. Dress parade has been cancelled this evening so your men can get some sleep later on today. Get your preparations done by 1600. We’ll be waking everyone up at 2500. So let’s get to it, gentlemen.”

 

They all rose from their chairs and headed out to get their men ready. Anny found her platoon lounging around their barracks and sighed. Sergeant Kay should have found _something_ for them to do while they were waiting for her. The man just didn’t seem to be willing to take the initiative when there wasn’t someone around to give him orders. It wasn’t a lack of respect, everyone jumped to their feet when they saw her, it was just a lack of… she wasn’t sure what.

 

“Okay, everyone,” she said. “Big day tomorrow and we’ve got a lot to do to get ready. It’s been three weeks since we’ve had our armor on and we are going to spend the afternoon giving them a thorough going over.” There were a few obligatory groans, but all the men seemed eager. “All right, let’s move out.” They spilled out of the barracks and got into ranks. She had Sergeant Kay take them to the armory at a trot while she followed along. The men were making wisecracks and were happy. That made Anny happy. She was nearly as eager about this exercise as they were—maybe more. While she had spent quite a bit of time with her platoon training and doing other day-to-day activities, this would be her first combat exercise with them. It should be challenging and fun. And best of all, no one was going to get killed. She was still haunted by the men she’d lost in that fight during her apprentice cruise. The victory had been satisfying but the cost… Well, she wouldn’t lose any men this time!

 

As they neared the armory complex at the north end of the base, she heard the roar of assault shuttles and looked up. A swarm of them—at least two dozen—screamed overhead. They quickly disappeared beyond the ridge. A few moments later a long column of vehicles passed them moving toward the landing field. It was the 32nd Artillery. Some of the men riding on the vehicles waved at them and shouted things that they couldn’t hear above the noise from the vehicles. Her men shouted back even though their remarks would be inaudible as well.

 

“Looks like it’s gonna be a helluva show, Lieutenant!” She looked and saw Private Kerbeck grinning at her. She smiled back and nodded.

 

Turning a corner, there was an outcry from the head of the platoon. Anny quickened her pace and then saw what had caused the excitement. At the far end of the concrete sat ten enormous shapes, the heavy tanks of the 283rd. _All ten of them!_ They were turning out the whole battalion for the exercise. _Just like Alby wanted!_ Alby had begged and wheedled Fetherbay into letting him come along with the regimental staff. _He’s gonna love this!_ Anny was pretty excited herself, although she worried that she hadn’t had the chance to work with heavy tanks before. Well, odds were that someone else would be assigned to escort the behemoths. And they needed escorting. Despite their incredible firepower and shielding, tanks that let enemy infantry get in too close could find themselves in trouble.

 

They reached their own armory building and went inside to work on their suits. There were plenty of other people there already and it was going to get crowded once everyone from both battalions got to work. Anny made sure that all her men were doing what they were supposed to do and then started the check-out on her own set of armor.

 

She worked for about an hour and was satisfied so far. Everything seemed to be in order but she was going to be extra-thorough. She couldn’t help but be a little paranoid after the incident with Vorkerkas. Would he stoop to trying to sabotage her armor? If something were to fail at the wrong moment, something say like the anti-grav units, the results could be fatal. Even some non-fatal failure could be damn embarrassing. She was glad of her long session with the ordnance sergeant weeks earlier. She knew just what to look for.

 

She took a break from her own suit for a while and checked up on what her platoon as doing. She did a few random inspections and was pleased that no one was skimping on the check-out procedures. She could have done the inspection from her own suit using her command access to the master diagnostic computer, but the men appreciated it when their officer showed personal interest in what they were doing—as long as they didn’t stand there, looking over their shoulders for _too_ long.

 

She was heading back to work when someone came walking up wearing a large unarmored command helmet. “Hi, Anny!” boomed an amplified voice. “Oops,” it said in a more normal volume level.

 

She looked closer. “Alby? That you?”

 

“Sure is!” he said, pulling the helmet off. “How do you like this contraption? Must weigh a ton, but it’s got all the functions of command suit of battle armor!”

 

“The colonel give you that?”

 

“Yup! He said that I needed to be able to follow the action if I was going to be good for anything other than fetching coffee.”

 

“A shame you didn’t get your own set of armor.”

 

“Yeah, no time now, but Fetherbay told me to make sure I get one fitted to me after this.”

 

“Well that’s good. Next time you’ll be all ready. But how are you going to be able to keep up with the HQ group without armor?”

 

“I’ve got a skimmer. I’ll keep up. ‘Course if we come under fire I’ll probably be marked a casualty in about two seconds, but it will be fun while it lasts.”

 

“Okay, but you watch yourself out there. These sorts of thing can be dangerous even if the fire is all simulated.”

 

“Oh yeah, I’ll be careful. Well, see you later.” He waved and walked off, lugging his helmet under one arm. Anny smiled. She liked Alby very much.

 

By mid-afternoon they were all done with their armor. Next came the weapons inspection. For the exercise they wouldn’t be doing any live fire, for obvious reasons. But there would be a master tactical computer evaluating everything that was going on and assign casualties based on what the participants were doing. All the weapons had to be put in safe mode with their normal power or ammo packs swapped out for training packs. Then they had to confirm the communications links between the weapons and the master computer. Theoretically when a man fired his weapon, the computer could tell exactly what it was pointed at and evaluate the damage it was doing to the enemy. There would be human judges for the exercise, too. Supposedly there was a major-general from Vorbarr Sultana here as the chief judge.

 

Things went fairly smoothly but two men had glitches in their weapons that required extra work and they just made the 1600 deadline Vorstang had set. But they did make it and she marched the men back to the barracks and dismissed them. She grabbed a quick dinner at the regular mess hall and then went back to her room, set her alarm for 2450 and then lay down on her bed and tried to sleep. It was hard. She was excited and more than a bit worried about the lack of an in-depth briefing. A planetary invasion was about the most complicated military operation there was. A real one would have plans and documents to fill a small library. Granted this was just a small exercise, but still… Anny’s preparation mania was being starved for information and she didn’t like it. She supposed that she must have dozed off at least for a while when the alarm woke her.

 

She quickly showered and put on her undersuit and then her black fatigues over them and headed for the officers’ mess, picking up Jer, Alby and Estaban on the way. A steak-and-eggs ‘breakfast’ was waiting for them. This was the traditional pre-assault drop meal. Despite her nervousness, Anny found that she was hungry enough to eat a bit. The officers all around her were in good spirits, laughing and joking. She managed to ask Lieutenant Vorstang if there had been any updates to the mission briefing. He shook his head.

 

“No, it looks like we’re going into this one blind. But I’ll tell you one thing: all the rest of the brigade has already moved out. I’m not sure what that means, but be on your toes.”

 

“Yes sir.” She went back to her friends. “Well, just about time, guys. “Don’t know if we’ll run into each other once we’re dirtside again, but good luck and keep your heads down—especially you, Alby.”

 

They shook hands and then headed out to their own assignments. Anny got to the C Company barracks a few minutes before assembly. She felt like there ought to something she should be doing, but she couldn’t think of anything. Then the bugle sounded and the men poured out and formed up. For this, they’d march up to the armory as a regiment. It took a few minutes to get both battalions assembled on the road but soon they were off. It was just before midnight and the stars shown brightly overhead. In the distance were the lights of the armory complex and to the left of that the landing fields where their shuttles would be waiting.

 

They had no music accompanying them this time since the bandsmen were assault troopers just like the rest of them, but they provided their own:

 

_“The finest were Vorlinton’s Guard; The Sixty-First is just as hard, Our arms we wield from star to star Far from the hills of Barrayar. Far from the hills and skies of home, We’ll strike at planet, ship or dome; From Cetaganda to Escobar, Far from the hills of Barrayar.”_

 

The men sang and Anny sang with them.

 

 

**Chapter 7**

 

 **A** loud tone sounded in Jer’s helmet and he cursed with feeling. He was dead. So was nearly all his platoon. His communications system was cut off; he couldn’t issue any orders now that he was dead, but his tactical display was still working and he saw that a half-dozen of his men were fleeing north, trying to join up with some other fragment of the regiment, but everyone else was a casualty. And all the heavy weapons were destroyed.

 

“Shit.”

 

He noticed his platoon sergeant coming toward him and he opened up the visor of his helmet. “Well, Sergeant, looks like it’s game over for us.”

 

Shusterman nodded. “Yes, sir, but I’m thinkin’ that someone stacked the deck against us.”

 

Jer didn’t say anything, but he nodded. It certainly did seem that way. The landing itself had gone like clockwork. The shuttles had placed them in the foothills of the mountains exactly where they were supposed to and then the regiment had moved out to secure its objectives. It had looked, for all the world, like a textbook landing with the assault troopers establishing a secure perimeter for the rest of the brigade to land in.

 

Unfortunately, the rest of the brigade wasn’t on their side anymore.

 

They were now the Opposition Forces, the defenders of this hypothetical planet the 61st had landed on. Standard doctrine for the defense against an invasion was to hit the landing zone hard and fast and try to wipe it out before further invaders could arrive.

 

The 25th Brigade had hit hard and fast.

 

And there weren’t any further invaders coming.

 

The 25th had emerged from their hiding places and smashed right through the 61st’s perimeter. The assault troopers were spread too thinly to stop them. Oh, if it had just been the infantry of the 139th, they probably could have held them long enough to redeploy, but it was the heavy tanks of the 283rd and the artillery of the 32nd that had broken the line. The huge war machines were almost impossible to stop with the light weapons carried by assault troopers. Although they _had_ stopped four of them. Jer felt really proud about that. By massing all of their anti-tank weapons they had managed to knock out four of the heavy tanks. Somehow a fifth one had been taken out by the infantry alone.

 

But that had been the end of the AT platoons. As soon as they had opened up, the enemy artillery had come raining down. The air defense platoons hadn’t been able to stop all the fire and enough had gotten through to take out nearly all the heavy weapons. With them gone, the remaining tanks pushed right on through. Jer could see one of the metal beasts smashing through the trees and skellytums a half klick down the ridge. A line of enemy infantry was moving through Jer’s position now and they were laughing and waving at all the ‘dead’ assault troopers.

 

“Bastards,” muttered Shusterman.

 

Yeah, this had been a set-up for sure. An assault regiment would normally have a lot of orbital fire support to make up for its lack of really heavy weapons. Control of the space around the planet was a given, wasn’t it? How could the assault troopers have gotten here if that wasn’t the case? But there had been no fire support. And it wasn’t like they needed actual warships in orbit for this exercise, just program it into the tactical computer and there you have it.

 

But they didn’t have it and they were getting creamed. Jer looked at his tactical display again. Both sides were assumed to have orbital observation and orbital countermeasures so the information that came through was spotty and subject to errors, but it looked pretty clear that the 61st was getting pushed out of the hills and into the open plains and once they were in the open they’d be annihilated. Colonel Fetherbay had already expended most of the assault shuttles in hopeless attempts to even the odds. The handful that were left wouldn’t be enough to evacuate many survivors.

 

Part of Jer was angry, but he supposed that they needed to train for handling defeat as well as victory. And it would certainly make the reservists feel good. Maybe that was the whole point of this: give them the confidence that they could stand up to first-line troops.

 

He looked back into the hills. Anny’s company was supposed to be over that way somewhere to the southeast. He wondered how she was doing…?

 

 

* * *

 

 

“I think we’re screwed, sir,” said Sergeant Kay.

 

Anny took a deep breath and looked at her tactical display. Unfortunately, she was afraid that her platoon sergeant was correct. The 61st Imperial Infantry was looking at defeat in detail and there didn’t seem to be a damn thing anyone could do about it.

 

She couldn’t believe how quickly things had gone to hell. Her own platoon was still basically intact, she’d only lost five men, but the rest of C Company was wiped out or scattered to the four winds. Lieutenant Vorstang was down, Lieutenant Dahlberg was down and Ensigns Vorberg and Zolek, while still not listed as casualties, weren’t answering their coms. Technically that made her the senior officer in the company, but the company now consisted of the 3rd platoon—which she commanded anyway.

 

The landing had gone fine. They’d debarked and C Company was sent south into the hills and spread out in a long skirmish line. Their orders were to form a perimeter protecting the landing zone. They’d made contact with some enemy recon troops on skimmers, but they’d fallen back before Anny’s troops could engage them. They’d reached their assigned locations and halted to await developments.

 

They hadn’t been long in coming.

 

Artillery fire had poured down on them and then the heavy tanks had appeared. One had slammed into C Company’s right flank. Anny’s platoon had been farthest away, so Vorstang had ordered her to take over holding the rest of the company’s line while he went after the tank with everyone else. And they’d done it, they’d taken out the tank, but at a terrible cost. And that left Anny holding a line five kilometers long with forty men. A large force of enemy infantry was following up behind the tank and while Anny had been trying to figure out how to deal with them, an order had come from Regiment telling everyone to fall back and regroup.

 

So they’d retreated. They’d out-distanced the pursuing infantry and broken contact, but the tactical display told her they had simply run out of luck. While they had been holding their initial line, strong enemy forces had passed by them on either flank and they were now in a three-sided box. And up ahead the cover was getting mighty thin. The north slope of the mountains was about as far as Terrestrial vegetation had spread and the native Barrayaran plants didn’t provide much concealment.

 

Anny and her platoon had rallied next to a small cliff. A waterfall thundered over it and gathered in a deep pool at the base of the cliff and then rolled away, downhill toward the flat land. A clump of the last tall trees soared overhead. At another time it would be a beautiful spot for a picnic. She’d have to rent a light-flyer and take Jer up here sometime…

 

“So what do we do, Lieutenant?” asked Kay. “We stay here, we’re dead for sure.”

 

Yeah, that was true. There were at least two companies of the 139th on their tails and even though they could probably hold them, as soon as they tried the relentless artillery would blast them out. But if they kept moving, would it be any better? They couldn’t go east or west; there was more infantry there and a pair of the tanks on each side. The only way open was due north and as soon as they lost their cover, they’d be hit from three sides. She’d lose two-thirds of her people before she could ever reach the rally point. The situation was clearly hopeless, but she hated losing everyone for nothing.

 

Her instinct was to turn back south and try to punch right through her pursuers, get into _their_ rear and cause as much trouble as she could before they were wiped out. But as soon as they saw her coming, they would call in that damn artillery and the remaining enemy tanks weren’t that far away and… She’d lose so many men breaking through she wouldn’t have enough left to do anything—even if she survived to lead them. And the thought of Sergeant Kay being left in command was not a pleasant one.

 

So it would have to be north. That’s what her orders were and it seemed the best bet, dismal as it was. _Damn, if we could just drop out of sight…_ She looked around.

 

She saw it.

 

She stood and stared and frantically tried to find the flaw in the plan that had materialized in her head. There was a flaw—a big one, several, actually—but if it worked… _Why the hell not?_

 

“Lieutenant?”

 

“Third Platoon, listen up!” All in a clump like this, they were able to use tight-beam lasers to communicate without risk of giving themselves away. “The enemy thinks they’ve got us beat, but we’ve still got one trick up our sleeves. Follow me!” She headed south—right into the pool of water. It came up to her waist with a treacherous bottom. She kept going until she was standing right under the waterfall. She could feel the torrent beating on her armor. She looked back and saw her platoon hesitating. “Come on! Everyone in here with me! Close it up!” Her troopers closed up around her, nearly shoulder to shoulder.

 

“All right, we are going disappear for a while. We are going to hide here and let the enemy move past us and then we’re going to kick them right in the ass.”

 

“Lieutenant,” said Kay, “they’ll spot us even here. Our power emissions…”

 

“There won’t be any power emissions, Sergeant. We are going to shut down our suits.”

 

“What?” A dozen voices exclaimed in protest.

 

“You heard me. We are going to power down and hide underwater for an hour. The cold water will mask any IR emissions and they’ll never think to actually look under the water.”

 

“How will we breathe?” asked one of the men.

 

“We can keep our air scrubbers working. They can run off our batteries.”

 

“I don’t know how to set that up…”

 

“I can run you through the procedure, but we’ve got to hurry. First, everyone lie down. Make sure you are under water.” Anny lowered herself down until she was lying on her back. There was about a meter of water over her. Her men did the same. “Okay, now call up your master menus.” A command screen appeared on her heads-up display. “Hit ‘command sequence’, the little box on the lower right. Then hit ‘special instructions’…” She ran them through the sequence, step by step. She was so glad she’d studied the armor so thoroughly! “Set the timer for 60 minutes. Everyone got that?” While her troops were acknowledging, she set her own timer for 55 minutes.

 

“Lieutenant?” said Kay. “If this don’t work, we’re gonna be fish in a barrel. We won’t even be able to fight back!”

 

“But if it does work, we’ll give them the surprise of their lives, eh, Sergeant?”

 

“But…”

 

“These are my orders, Sergeant.”

 

“Yes, sir.” Kay didn’t sound happy.

 

“Com’on, Sarge,” said Private Kerbeck, “It’ll be fun.”

 

“You just want to sleep for an hour,” said Private Soblinski.

 

“Cut the chatter,” commanded Anny. “All right, on my mark, hit the ‘execute’ button. It will probably get a bit cold in your suits after a while, but we’ll be fine. And don’t worry about being stuck here, if the medical monitors detect any problems, the suit will start up automatically. All right, everyone get ready. On my mark, three, two, one… execute!”

 

Anny did not hit the execute command in her own suit immediately. She waited to make sure all her troopers had done so. She called up her platoon status display and saw all her troopers changing from ‘active’ to ‘inactive’. A couple of them hesitated, but after thirty seconds, they were all inactive. Anny took a breath and then hit the ‘execute’ key for her own armor.

 

[Commencing shutdown…]

 

Her display went blank except for that message. After a few moments, the mechanical ‘muscles’ of her suit locked and she couldn’t move. The status lights in her helmet winked out and she was in blackness except for a tiny green message in one corner:

 

[Restart in: 54:47]

 

She suspected this was going to be the longest fifty-five minutes of her life.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Being dead wasn’t so bad, reflected Alby Vorsworth. No duty, no responsibilities, just hang around and watch the show.

 

But he suspected that the final act was fast approaching in this show. He looked at the big holo-display that Colonel Fetherbay’s HQ people had set up in a small cave they’d found. The 61st was being squeezed into a pocket. If he was reading the fast-changing display correctly, then the regiment had about 500 troopers left in action. The enemy had a lot more and they were closing in. Their five remaining heavy tanks were sweeping around the flanks to close the pocket and cut off any retreat. The big machines were able to move a lot faster now that they were out of the rough terrain to the south. Of course, the things could actually fly on their anti-gravs if they wanted to, but that would expose their thin belly armor and no sane tank jockey would ever do that in a combat zone.

 

The enemy infantry were forming the other sides of the pocket. The lightly equipped troops of the 139th couldn’t beat assault troopers in a stand-up fight, but any time the 61st tried to go after them, the enemy artillery came crashing down and broke them up. With the regiment’s heavy weapons and air defense gone and no orbital fire support to blast the enemy guns, they’d been free to wreck havoc. They’d probably lost more men to the artillery than to the tanks.

 

The artillery had gotten Alby, too.

 

In the first few minutes of the enemy attack, a barrage had swept across the HQ. It hadn’t done much to the men in battle armor, but Alby was marked as a casualty almost immediately. The Colonel had given him permission to tag along and watch as long as he didn’t break the rules by doing anything useful. Alby had been perfectly happy to oblige.

 

“Where’s the rest of C Company?” demanded Fetherbay suddenly.

 

“I don’t know,” replied his chief of staff. “Most of them were lost taking out that tank…”

 

“But there were still at least a platoon left a few minutes ago. In sector G-19.” The Colonel pointed at the display. “They’re gone now.” Alby studied the display. The rules of the exercise made the sensor readings sporadic for both sides so the information on the display was never complete or entirely accurate.

 

“Maybe the artillery got them…”

 

“All of them? They got the order to fall back, didn’t they?”

 

“I think so, sir.”

 

“Damn…” But then another officer called to the Colonel, reporting some new emergency and he moved to deal with it. Alby continued to stare at the display. _C Company, eh?_ The last status update Alby had seen had Anny as the senior surviving officer.

_What are you up to, girl?_

 

 

* * *

 

 

[Restart in: 00:03… 00:02… 00:01… Commencing Restart]

 

Anny sighed in relief as her battle armor came to life again. It had indeed been a very long fifty-five minutes. At first it had gotten warm in her suit as the cooling system shut down, but then it had gotten colder and colder as the water sucked away the heat. She was shivering now. And she kept telling herself that it was just her imagination that the air was getting stuffy… But the physical discomfort was nothing compared to her anxiety about the risky plan she had adopted. She had been assuming that the enemy had lost track of them in the rough hills and that they would assume their sudden disappearance from the sensor displays was due to the continual jamming and countermeasures that had been going on since the exercise started. They were reservists, it was exciting, there was so much to keep track of, they wouldn’t notice one missing platoon.

 

It was a big assumption.

 

If the enemy had a really sharp sensor officer or if someone had a solid fix on them when they powered down or if the pursuing infantry had been closer than she’d thought… Well, they were dead. Granted, this was just an exercise and they wouldn’t really be dead, but it would be humiliating and embarrassing and she really didn’t want it to end that way.

 

But as her armor finished its start-up there was no indication that she’d been killed. According to her status display she was still alive and fully functional. It had worked!

 

She slowly sat up until her helmet was just above the water and activated the suit’s external cameras. She couldn’t see much because of the waterfall so she crawled forward until she was out of the spray. She looked around.

 

No one.

 

She switched to the IR display. She didn’t dare use active sensors, but nothing showed up on the passive infra-red, either. No enemy in sight.

 

She activated her tactical display and waited while it downloaded the latest update that HQ was broadcasting via satellite to all the 61st. She was dismayed to see how few friendly forces remained. A small island of blue floated in a red sea. Well, it was more of a peninsula than an island. There was still a narrow open zone leading north, but the enemy armor was moving to close the trap. The Regiment didn’t have much time left. But that sea of red was all north of her now. The enemy had gone on past and not noticed them!

 

As she studied the details, the rest of her platoon began their own restarts. A few minutes later they were all crouched next to her in the water. “Everyone okay?’ she asked.

 

“Freezing my ass… uh, okay, Lieutenant.”

 

“I don’t _ever_ want to do that again! Sir.”

 

“Afraid of the dark, Wasinski?”

 

“Cut the chatter!” snapped Kay. “What now, sir?”

 

“Look at the situation,” she replied. Kay tied into her display. “The Regiment is trapped here. The enemy artillery is here, and we are right… here.”

 

“Right behind them!” exclaimed Kay.

 

“Yup, they’re less than a klick to the north of us.”

 

“Let’s take ‘em, sir!” cried Private Kerbeck.

 

“I intend to. But based on this deployment, where would you guess the enemy headquarters would be?”

 

“Uh… not sure, sir,” said Kay. “Probably close to the guns…”

 

“Yes, based on these sensor readings—see the high com traffic?—I would place them right about there.”

 

“Oh ho!” said Kerbeck. “The General is gonna shit himself!”

 

“Kerbeck!” snapped Kay.

 

“Sorry…”

 

“All right, attention,” said Anny. “Sergeant Kay, you will take 2nd Squad and half the weapons squad and attack these guns here,” she marked a spot on the display. “Sergeant Rollins, you will take 3rd Squad and the rest of weapons and hit the guns over here. Take them out! That is your objective: knock out the enemy guns! Everything else is secondary. I will take 1st Squad and hit the enemy HQ. Once the enemy artillery is silenced, we’ll all converge on the HQ and I’ll have new orders for you then. Understand?”

 

“Yes sir!”

 

“All right. Com silence unless you’re spotted, no active sensors, and keep your fool heads down! Move into position and wait for my order to attack. Let’s move out!”

 

They emerged from the water like some primeval pack of dinosaurs. Carnivores. Their prey was just ahead.

 

They moved down the rock slopes, through the trees and underbrush quickly but carefully. Kay and Rollins veered off to the right and left and were soon lost to sight. Their battle armor had smart-paint and it automatically adjusted its color to match the surroundings. Despite their size, they were hard to see. Of course they would be showing up on sensors now—if anyone was bothering to look. They probably only had a few minutes before someone noticed those energy emissions where they shouldn’t be any, but with luck they’d only need a few minutes.

 

Anny and her troopers reached the bottom of a slope. There was a level spot ahead and a clearing in the trees and she carefully moved up to the edge of the brush. In the clearing were a cluster of vehicles that had to be the brigade HQ. Troops with the unmistakable look of staff officers were bustling about. There was one larger lift-van that looked like a command vehicle. It had antennas on its roof and its wide doors were standing open.

 

She checked the time. Kay and Rollins had farther to go. She’d give them another minute or two. While she waited, she aimed a directional microphone at the big van.

 

“…looks like we’ve got them, General,” said a fuzzy voice.

 

“Yes, Colonel, just a matter of mopping up now,” said another.

 

“What are the tanks going to do once they close the circle, sir?”

 

“I haven’t given them orders yet, but I plan to have them start pushing south toward us. We’ll squeeze the enemy tighter and tighter. After a bit I’ll let Fetherbay surrender.”

 

“He’s not going to be happy, sir.”

 

“Oh, let him stew! Do him good. These assault troopers think they’re the lords of creation. It’ll be a good lesson for everyone that they aren’t invincible.”

 

“Yes sir.”

 

Anny had heard enough. She switched to the platoon circuit. “Ready?”

 

“Ready,” said Rollins.

 

“In position,” said Kay.

 

“All right! Third Platoon, hit ‘em! Go! Go! Go!”

 

Anny surged through the underbrush and charged toward the command vehicle. Her men started blasting everything in sight. She switched on her active sensors and saw her small band of blue dots moving into a cloud of at least a hundred red ones. But her men were in armor and heavily armed and the enemy were not. There would be a platoon of infantry for security, but they wouldn’t have a chance. Red dots blinked out faster than she could count and by the time she reached the van there were only a few enemy left. She still had the microphone on and cries of alarm were coming from the vehicle.

 

“General! Major Cushing reports his guns are under attack by enemy infantry!”

 

“Sir! I’m picking up unknown forces…”

 

“What the hell…?”

 

“Look out!”

 

“Sir! Enemy troops are…”

 

She burst into the van and couldn’t resist. “Right here.”

 

A dozen men, including General Vorsilva, were staring at her wide-eyed. Colonel Downes of the 139th was there, too. She stepped forward. “General, you are my prisoner,” she said, her external speaker booming out.

 

“Who the hell are you?” roared Vorsilva. “Joegen! Order some troops to…”

 

“Sorry, sir,” said Anny, raising her weapon. “Please stand down or I’ll have to shoot you.”

 

“Joegen! Do as I say!”

 

Anny sighed and activated her plasma arc and sprayed it across the general and his men. If this had been real the sun-hot beam would have fried flesh and equipment to ashes. Here, all it did was tell the master computer that the men were now casualties. The officer Vorsilva had been shouting at raised his hands helplessly from his com station.

 

“Sorry, sir, the com won’t respond. I’m dead.”

 

“God damn it!” snarled Vorsilva. He turned on her. “Who are you, soldier?”

 

“Excuse me just a moment, sir,” said Anny. She switched off the external speakers and called Kay and Rollins. “Report your status.”

 

“Blastin’ ‘em down, sir!” cried Kay.

 

“Weak resistance,” said Rollins. “We’ll have all the guns knocked out in another minute, sir.”

 

“Good work. Get it done and get back here.” She switched to the Regimental HQ circuit. “Payne to Colonel Fetherbay! Priority! Please respond!”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Alby was trying to see if a dead man could get a cup of coffee when one of the sensor officers cried out. “Sir! Colonel! The enemy artillery has stopped firing! And I’m reading friendlies near their position!”

 

Every eye turned to the tactical display and sure enough there were some blue dots near the enemy artillery positions.

 

“What the hell?” said Fetherbay. “Who are they?”

 

“Not sure, sir… wait! Incoming message!”

 

“Payne to Colonel Fetherbay! Priority! Please Respond!” A familiar voice came from a speaker and Alby found himself grinning ear to ear.

 

“Payne, what’s going on?” demanded Fetherbay.

 

“Sir! We’ve knocked out the enemy guns! And I’ve captured General Vorsilva! Well, killed him, I’m afraid, sorry about that. The enemy tanks have no orders, sir! If you hit the infantry line now…”

 

“I’m on it, Lieutenant! Stay where you are! We’re coming to you!” Fetherbay began snapping out orders to his remaining commanders and then ordered his staff to pack up their gear and get ready to move—south.

 

Fetherbay caught sight of Alby and grinned through his open helmet. “Your friend may have saved our bacon.”

 

“She has a knack for doing that, sir,” answered Alby.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“… Stay where you are! We’re coming to you!”

 

“Yes sir! We’ll secure this position and provide what covering fire we can. Payne out.”

 

“I asked you a question, soldier!” General Vorsilva was still talking to her.

 

“He looks kinda pissed,” said Private Kerbeck. Anny quickly looked to make sure that was on the secure circuit. She activated the external speaker again. “Lieutenant Payne, sir, C Company.”

 

“Open your damn helmet when you’re talking to me!”

 

Anny flipped up her visor and the General blinked in surprise. “You!”

 

“Uh, yes, sir, Andreanne Payne, C Company.”

 

“How’d you get here? What sort of trick did you pull?”

 

“We just took cover and let your forces pass us by, sir. Then we followed and attacked.”

 

“Bullshit! There’s no way we could have missed seeing you!”

 

“Sorry, sir, but that’s what we did.”

 

“I don’t believe you! This is some damn cheat by Fetherbay! But I’ll get to the bottom of it! Joegen! Call General Uhlrich! Use the emergency circuit!”

 

Anny started edging backwards. “I have to go, sir, I have my orders.”

 

“Stay right where you are, damn it!”

 

“Sorry, sir, as long as the exercise is running I don’t take orders from enemy officers. And anyway, you’re dead, sir.” She flipped down her visor and left the van.

 

She heard the general shouting after her, but she didn’t stop. “Yeah, I think he was pissed,” said Kerbeck.

 

Anny tried to put that out of her mind. Rollins and Kay were just approaching with their troops. “Casualties?” she asked.

 

“Not a one, sir!” said Kay. “They never knew what hit them!”

 

“Good. Now listen up. What’s left of the Regiment will be punching through the 139th and coming right through here. We need to clean out any remaining resistance and make sure they have a clear path. Those tanks will probably be right on their tails so there can’t be any delay. I imagine the Colonel will be ordering us to disperse into the hills, but be ready for anything. All right, let’s move.”

 

She spread her troops out in a long line just south of where the enemy artillery had been. They took out a few scattered enemy troops but the opposition appeared confused. Once she had her line set, she could just stand there and watch the show on her tactical display.

 

It was beautiful.

 

With hardly any delay, the 61st charged out of their perimeter and slashed through the leaderless troops of the 139th. Their tanks were off to the north, their artillery was silent and their commanders were dead. ‘Hot knife through butter’ seemed a particularly apt expression just then. The assault troopers in their battle armor overran the unarmored infantry in a matter of minutes. A few companies, the ones trailing behind the tanks, were spared, but the rest of the 139th was routed.

 

Once through the line, the 61st bounded south as fast as their suits would carry them. The enemy tanks, after milling about in confusion for critical minutes, began their pursuit, but couldn’t catch up. Thirty minutes after Anny had so rudely interrupted General Vorsilva, Colonel Fetherbay bounced up to her, raised his visor, and shook her hand.

 

“Well done, Lieutenant!” he said with a smile. “I’d ask you how you did it, but we don’t have time for that now. We’ll talk later. Now, if you’ll cover our retreat—excuse me, our advance in another direction—we’ll get the hell out of here!”

 

“My pleasure, sir.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Officially they had still lost.

 

But nobody in the 61st cared.

 

Jer Naddel watched the celebrating officers of the Regiment, leaned back in his chair and smiled. The Regimental Mess had never seemed so lively as it did tonight. Jer had heard that General Vorsilva had lodged a protest against Anny’s surprise move, but that he’d been overruled. There was nothing illegal about what Anny had done and the results would stand. The _official_ results stated that the defending forces, the 25 th Brigade, had successfully defeated the enemy landing force, overrun the landing zone, and stopped the invasion and thus won the exercise. But with the only effective combat unit left to the 25th being the five surviving tanks of the 283rd, you’d never convince anyone in the 61st that they’d lost. True, they’d lost almost 70% of their troops, but they were still an organized combat force. They hadn’t been wiped out and they hadn’t been forced to surrender.

 

Thanks to Anny.

 

There she was, up by Fetherbay’s table, being toasted again. Men were crowded around her with raised glasses and jubilant faces. This had been going on for an hour or more. He’d scarcely had a chance to talk to her all evening, but he didn’t mind. This was her night. She’d earned it and he was so damn proud of her. If there had been any doubters in the Regiment, they were all gone now. Well, almost all gone. There was Vorkerkas glowering in a corner. But he was alone. Good.

 

“Wow! What a party!” exclaimed Alby, as he plopped into a seat next to Jer. “Looks like this could go on all night!”

 

“I think it’s supposed to,” replied Jer. He nearly had to shout to make himself heard. “Fetherbay has cancelled all duty for tomorrow. We’ll need a day to sober up after this!”

 

“Good! I think I shall get even drunker than I am!”

 

Jer laughed. “I may get a bit potted myself. But what was it like at Regimental HQ during the battle? I could sort of follow along by watching the tactical display after I’d been killed, but you must have had a real good look.”

 

“Oh yeah! It was quite a show. But I’ve got to hand it to Fetherbay, he’s one cool customer. Even after it was obvious that we’d been set up to lose, he never got angry or lost control. And oh, man, when we got the call from Anny telling us that she’d bagged the enemy guns and Vorsilva! Fetherbay didn’t waste a second. We were off and moving within a few minutes. Glad I still had my skimmer or I never would have kept up.”

 

“I like the Colonel.”

 

“Yeah, me, too. I wouldn’t mind working for him once I’m done with this bloody simulator project.”

 

“Regimental staff?”

 

“Why not? I think I’d be good there. Hell, the next time something like this happens I’ll just hack into the main tactical computer and add the home fleet and the Guards Division to our side!”

 

“Wouldn’t Vorsilva love that! Whoops! Speak of the devil!” Jer sat up. General Vorsilva and Colonel Downes had just entered the Mess. There was another high ranking officer with them. The noise level dropped as more and more people noticed them. “Who’s that with Vorsilva?”

 

“Must be General Uhlrich: he was the chief observer for the exercise.”

 

The crowd parted before the trio and they moved toward the head table. Jer saw Anny try to fade into the background, but Fetherbay led her forward to meet the generals. “General Uhlrich, General Vorsilva, Colonel Downes, welcome to the 61st’s Mess,” he said.

 

“Good to see you again, Tony!” boomed Uhlrich, who was a tall, barrel-chested man. He looked around at the celebrating officers and grinned. “Didn’t anyone tell you you’d lost the exercise?”

 

“We received a communication to that effect, sir, but it was clearly a mistake,” replied Fetherbay. “I’m expecting a correction any time.”

 

Uhlrich laughed. “Yes, things didn’t turn out quite how we’d planned!” He swung his gaze around to take in most of the assembled officers. “As I’m sure you figured out pretty quickly, the exercise was deliberately set up to be very unbalanced. Battles rarely go according to plan, gentlemen. The intention was give the 61st an overdose of battlefield ‘friction’ while at the same time giving the rest of your brigade an example of how to contain and wipe out a hostile landing.”

 

“Yes, sir,” said Fetherbay.

 

“Ah, and here’s the one who screwed it all up!” cried Uhlrich, catching sight of Anny.

 

“Yes, General, let me introduce Lieutenant Payne,” said Fetherbay.

 

“Good to meet you, sir,” said Anny, shaking hands.

 

“And I you, Lieutenant! And I you! That was damn sneaky of you! But well done! Very well done!”

 

“Thank you, sir. Sorry if I messed up your plans.”

 

“Oh, don’t be! Friction works both ways, after all! And I think some valuable lessons were learned on both sides. Don’t you, General?” Uhlrich looked to Vorsilva, who hadn’t cracked a smile the whole time.

 

“Of course, sir,” said Vorsilva. “But I have a question for the Lieutenant.”

 

“Sir?” said Anny.

 

“Yes, I just wanted know that if this has been real would you still have done it? Some might consider what you did extremely reckless. If it hadn’t worked—if you hadn’t been lucky—you and your whole platoon would have been killed or captured without the chance to fire a shot. Anyone can be brave and daring when there’s no real danger. But if it had been real, would you have done this?”

 

The noise level in the Mess fell to almost nothing. Anny’s face was dead neutral, but Jer knew her well enough to be sure that there was some anger below the surface. Vorsilva was trying to belittle her accomplishment, even make it look like a mistake rather than smart move!

 

“Well, Lieutenant?”

 

“Given an identical tactical situation, sir,” said Anny, “then yes, sir, I think I would.”

 

“Really?” Vorsilva sounded skeptical. “You’d throw away all the men under your command?”

 

“Sir, as I read the situation, my platoon was in a hopeless position anyway. We had become separated from the rest of the regiment and the only other line of withdrawal would have exposed us to so much enemy fire I doubted more than a handful of us would have survived. And we wouldn’t have done any corresponding damage to the enemy. I knew my plan was risky, but it seemed the best chance to keep my men alive—and hurt the enemy at the same time.”

 

“And so it turned out!” said General Uhlrich loudly. He slapped Vorsilva on the back and then Anny, too. “Fortune favors the bold, eh? But my glass seems to be empty—hell, I don’t even have a glass! Can someone correct that?” In an eyeblink, someone had supplied Uhlrich with a full glass. He held it up. “Gentlemen! To good fortune and bold, young officers!”

 

_“Hear, hear!”_

 

Everyone joined in the toast and the celebration started again. With the generals distracting Fetherbay, Anny managed to escape and make her way back to Jer. “Whew!” she said dramatically, wiping imaginary sweat from her brow. “Never thought I’d get away!”

 

“Well, relax and have a drink!” said Alby. “You’ve earned it.” He snagged a glass from a passing steward and handed it to her.

 

“Thanks. Wow, I hope I haven’t pissed off Vorsilva too much.”

 

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll get over it,” said Jer. “You’re part of his brigade, after all. Once he’s had a chance to think, he’ll be glad to have you.”

 

“I hope so.”

 

“Yeah, me, too,” said Alby, looking far too serious for the occasion.

 

“Now what?”

 

“Well, I looked up Vorsilva’s record. It seems that when he was at the Academy he tried to get into the assault troops—and didn’t make it. Maybe he’s got a grudge against them.”

 

“He did seem awfully satisfied about the exercise—just before I captured him,” said Anny.

 

“Well, don’t worry about it. Fetherbay—and most everyone else around here—couldn’t be happier,” said Jer. “They’re the ones you have to deal with everyday. Don’t worry about Vorsilva.”

 

“He’s probably right,” said Alby. “So drink up! Let’s enjoy ourselves!”

 

And so they did. After a while, the band started playing and an area was cleared in the gymnasium and the officers who had wives or girlfriends started dancing. Getting up his nerve, Jer asked Anny to dance. She hesitated at first, but eventually gave in. They hadn’t danced since the formal ball in their senior year at the Academy. It had been kind of awkward at first, and it felt the same way here. Pretty much everyone had stopped to stare at the two uniformed officers dancing with each other. But then Anny grinned at him and he grinned back. _Hell, let them stare!_ After that, they relaxed and it was a lot of fun. Later, Alby asked Anny to dance and she agreed and that opened the floodgates. It seemed like everyone wanted to dance with Anny. Well, almost everyone. But she reserved enough dances for Jer that he didn’t feel neglected.

 

“That is one hell of a woman you’ve got there, Naddel,” said Sven Estaban, after he’d had his dance.

 

“You’re right about that,” he replied in satisfaction.

 

“One hell of a woman.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Someone was pounding on the door and every thump seemed to be transmitted directly to Anny’s brain. Crap. What time was it? How much had she had to drink? Where the hell was she? She heard Jer groan and felt him move and then she remembered that she’d spent the night with him. Or as much of the night as was left after they’d left the Mess. The stairs up to her room had seemed far too daunting in her condition so she’d accepted Jer’s offer to stay in his room. She couldn’t even remember if they’d made love so she must have really been smashed.

 

“Lieutenant Payne, are you in there?” A voice came through the door.

 

“Wha?” she mumbled. “Yeah… Whozzat?”

 

“Uh, Corporal Fletcher, sir. From brigade headquarters. I’ve got orders to bring you up there. I’ve been looking all over for you, sir.”

 

“What the hell for?’ growled Jer.

 

“Damn, damn… _Damn_!” Anny tried to roll out of the bed, got her legs tangled in the sheets, and fell flat on her face. “Ow!”

 

“You okay?”

 

“Yeah, yeah…” She staggered up and headed for the door, realized she wasn’t wearing anything except a t-shirt and stopped to try and sort out her clothes from Jer’s scattered on the floor. Jer tottered past her to the door, opened it a crack and looked out.

 

“Yeah? What is it?”

 

“Uh… I need to bring Lieutenant Payne to HQ, sir. They’ve been comming her and she hasn’t answered.”

 

“Oh, right. You got a vehicle?”

 

“Parked outside, sir.”

 

“Wait there, she’ll be out in ten minutes.”

 

“They want her right away.”

 

“Ten minutes or you’ll have to take her there naked, Corporal.”

 

“Oh, okay, I’ll wait.”

 

Jer shut the door and turned. “Use the shower here. I’ll take your key and get you a fresh set of greens.”

 

“Great. Thanks, love.” She wove her way into the bathroom and turned on the shower and let it splash all over her. She scrubbed herself, washed her hair, and then turned the temperature to as cold as she could stand, shocking herself awake. By the time she emerged Jer was back with her uniform and—bless the man—a cup of coffee and a painkiller.

 

“What do you suppose this is about?” asked Jer as she dressed.

 

“No clue. But I doubt that it’s good news.”

 

“Pessimist.”

 

“Always.”

 

She gulped down the last of the coffee, put on her cap and went out the door. “Later.”

 

The corporal was sitting in the utility vehicle and Anny took the seat next to him. “How long have they been looking for me?”

 

“About forty minutes, sir,” he replied as he pressed the accelerator.

 

“Sorry, I was unconscious.”

 

“Yes sir.”

 

“Who, exactly is looking for me?”

 

“Captain Vordranov, sir.”

 

Anny frowned. That was Vorsilva’s chief of staff… “Why is he looking for me?”

 

“No idea, sir.”

 

 

They arrived at the HQ building, which was considerably larger than the regimental HQ. Anny had only ever been here once before on an errand for Vorstang. She got out of the vehicle and went up the steps to the front door. The 61st might have the day off, but it was business as usual at Brigade. She went inside and asked how to find Captain Vordranov’s office. She got there and then had to wait twenty minutes before he would see her. Finally she was let in. She came to attention and saluted. “Lieutenant Payne, reporting as ordered.”

 

“You’re late,” growled Vordranov, a harried-looking officer of middle years.

 

“Sorry, sir.” She knew it was no use to make excuses.

 

Vordranov searched through the flimsies on his desk, found one and thrust it at her. “Payne, you are being detached from the 61st and assigned here.”

 

 _“What?”_ she gasped.

 

“You heard me. You’ll be the acting S-9 officer. Watkins!” Vordranov shouted the last bit so suddenly Anny flinched. _Detached…?_ An enlisted man who looked even more harried than Vordranov popped into the office.

 

“Sir?”

 

“Take Payne down to the S-9 office. She’s taking over there.”

 

“Yes sir. Lieutenant? If you’d follow me?” In a daze, Anny followed the man into the corridor. _S-9? What the hell is S-9?_

 

S-1 was Personnel & Administration… S-2 Intelligence/Security… S-3 Operations… S-4 Logistics… As she went down the hallway she saw the labeled office doors. So she was being assigned to the brigade staff? She was losing her platoon? For how long? Why? And what was S-9?

 

S-7 Training… S-8 Finance/Payroll… They reached the end of the hallway and she looked at the door.

 

“Public Relation!?” she exclaimed.

 

“Yes sir,” said Watkins. “S-9, Public Relations.”

 

 


	2. Lieutenants Part 2

**Chapter 8**

 

 **“I** sn’t there anything you can do, sir?”

 

“No, there isn’t, Lieutenant,” said Colonel Fetherbay. “Brigade requests people from us for various duties all the time. I’ve got three other officers on detached duty right now.”

 

“But… public relations, sir? I’m an infantry officer!” Anny looked at her colonel beseechingly.

 

“Come, come, Lieutenant, you know that it’s been a long-standing policy in the service to rotate officers between line and staff positions. It broadens their experience and lets each branch become familiar with the problems of the other. Now I’ll grant that it’s a bit unusual for a detachment like this so early in a career; you’ve only been here a few months, but there it is. General Vorsilva requested you specifically and I have no grounds to refuse the request. Public Relations has a lot of dealings with the wives and families of our soldiers and the General said…” Fetherbay rummaged around on his desk for a moment until he found a flimsy. “… and I quote: Lieutenant Payne is uniquely qualified for this post, unquote.”

 

Anny felt a huge emptiness in the pit of her stomach. “But… am I… am I still part of the 61st, sir?”

 

“Yes,” said Fetherbay, firmly. “You’ve been detached, not transferred. You are still on our rolls and will remain there. Don’t worry about that. And this won’t last forever, Payne, eventually you’ll be back with us.”

 

“Who will be taking over my platoon, sir?” _My platoon… mine!_

 

“I’m sure Vorglanov and Vorstang will figure something out. Look, Lieutenant, I can see you’re not happy about this and frankly I’m not happy about having to give up a good officer even temporarily. But we live to serve the Imperium and we don’t always get to choose the manner in which we serve. So for right now all I can tell you is to shut up and do as you’re told and ride this out. Understand?”

 

“Yes, sir,” sighed Anny. “Thank you for taking the time to talk to me.”

 

“I’ll always make time for my people. Good luck.”

 

Anny saluted and left Fetherbay’s office, her spirits in her boots. She made her way out of the headquarters building. It was only 0730 and she could see the companies forming up to begin their day’s activities. She longed to be with her platoon. But it wasn’t hers anymore. She had made such good progress in winning their acceptance. And then with what they’d pulled off during the exercise, morale was so high…

 

The exercise. _This is Vorsilva’s revenge. He’s getting back at me for embarrassing him during the exercise._

 

That was her anger talking, she knew, but even looking at it dispassionately—or as dispassionately as she could manage at the moment—it was still likely true. But there was nothing she could do about it. And Fetherbay was right: sooner or later she’d have to learn staff work. She could never hope to rise above the rank of captain without staff experience. But public relations? She didn’t even know what the hell her job _was_ now!

 

She watched the troopers move out and then turned toward Brigade HQ. It was quite a walk, but Brigade’s day didn’t even begin until 0830. She had time. As she walked along the road she could see the men of the 139th packing up. Their training month was over and they were going home. They had homes to go to, but Anny’s only home now was the 61st. _What if I can’t stand this? What if I’m stuck there for years and years? Or forever? I’ve got nowhere else to go._

 

It was a daunting thought. For years her only goal had been to make it into the Academy and then through the Academy and get her commission. But now that she’d accomplished that, what if she didn’t like the service? What if she got stuck in some boring job that she came to hate? What else could she do? _Well, Elena said the Dendarii would probably hire me… do they have public relations officers, too?_

 

She shook herself and took a deep breath. _Stop whining, girl! You survived four years of bullshit at the Academy that was ten times worse than this! Just do your job and be patient!_ It was good advice, but not very satisfying.

 

She reached the HQ building and went inside. She was still early and there weren’t that many people around yet. She walked around the building a bit before going to her office. It was a clean and well-kept place, but it lacked the sort of history and tradition that filled the 61st’s HQ and Mess. Brigades were temporary formations with frequently changing components and commanders. No one spoke proudly of the brigade they belonged to. Well, not during peacetime anyway.

 

More people were coming in now and a few gave her double-takes. She headed back to her office and got there just before 0830. She was pleased to see that her people were all there already. All three of them. Sergeant Elridge, Corporal Kane and Private Malakov. And her. Public Relations.

 

“Good morning, everyone,” she said as she came through the door. She put on a cheerful expression despite her actual feelings. That was part of being an officer.

 

“Good morning, sir,” answered all three in unison, springing to their feet. She’d met them all yesterday but now she looked them over again. Elridge was in his thirties but the other two were scarcely older than she was. Elridge was about her height, but Kane was a full head taller and skinny as a rail. Malakov was built like a tree stump and a bit shorter than her. They all looked back at her expectantly.

 

“Let’s sit down.” There were two rooms in Public Relations, a tiny inner office for her and a slightly larger space for everyone else. Three desks and three chairs and a few file cabinets pretty much filled it. Anny grabbed the spare chair from her office and sat down on it in the outer office with the other three. “Well! I’m afraid that I have no experience with public relations. I’m going to need you three to help me get up to speed. So, tell me: what exactly do we do here?”

 

The three men looked at each other for a moment before Elridge replied. “Well, sir, we’re basically the Complaint Department.”

 

“Complaint Department? What sort of complaints? And who’s complaining?”

 

“It breaks down into four categories, sir,” said Corporal Kane. “A big chunk of them come from the enlisted men and their families living in the housing complex. Broken heaters, clogged drains, peeling paint, that sort of thing.”

 

“But surely that’s the responsibility of the Quartermaster and Physical Plant, isn’t it?”

 

“Oh sure, the work is, sir, and the requests for work go to them and they get the work done—most of the time. It’s when the work doesn’t get done or doesn’t get done right that we get involved.”

 

“Oh, I see,” said Anny.

 

“Yeah, we have th’ job to nag people,” said Private Malakov.

 

“The next sort is complaints by our folks about the townspeople. Vandalism, trash left in our areas…”

 

“Why would they do that?” asked Anny.

 

“Our trash pick-up is free: the townspeople hafta pay for it,” said Malakov.

 

“Yes,” continued Kane. “And then there are also complaints about townspeople harassing our women or kids, fights, noisy neighbors, that sort of thing.”

 

“The local police—or our MPs can’t handle that?”

 

“It’s like the first category, sir: it only comes to us if the other folks don’t handle it. The third category is just the reverse and it’s a lot bigger: complaints by the townspeople against our people. Bar fights, rowdy behavior, damaged property, pretty much anything we do that they don’t like. Serious stuff, like injuries, go to the Provost and we don’t usually see any of those, but a lot of the minor stuff will end up in our lap.”

 

“Yeah, all the crap the Provost’s people don’t wanna bother with,” said Malakov.

 

“Ah. So what’s the fourth category?”

 

Kane seemed embarrassed. Anny looked at Elridge, who grimaced. “Well, sir, those are complaints by our people against others of our people.”

 

“Oh…”

 

“A lot of it’s trivial stuff , like in the other categories, but some of it’s more serious…”

 

“Such as?” asked Anny, not sure she wanted to hear the answer.

 

“Domestic disputes, sir,” said Kane. “Men beating up their wives or girlfriends or their kids. Women beating up their kids or neglecting them. If it’s men beating up other men the Provost mostly handles it, but when it comes to this other stuff, they shove it off on us.”

 

“And they expect us to be able to do somethin’ about it!” said Malakov shaking his head.

 

“Oh dear. There’s no social workers or…?”

 

“They have some people at the local hospital that can give help sometimes, but it’s sort of a mess. And then some of the families get into financial difficulties, sir. Men gamble or drink away their pay and can’t support their families. The Payroll Department handles some of those cases, but sometimes it does end up in our lap—especially when it’s a woman whose man is off with the fleet.”

 

“How many of these complaints come in a week?” asked Anny, feeling overwhelmed.

 

“A couple dozen, sir,” said Elridge. “Except…”

 

“Except what?”

 

“Well, Ensign Parker used to have your job, but he managed to weasel… er, he was transferred out a few months ago and they didn’t find a replacement until now. And a lot of these complaints need an officer to handle and we didn’t have one so… so…”

 

“They kinda stacked up,” said Malakov.

 

“Uh, yeah. We’re hoping that now you’re here we can get rid of the backlog. Sir.”

 

Anny sighed. This sounded like fun. “So, let’s have a look at them.”

 

“Yes sir,” said Kane. He turned his chair around and grabbed a wire basket full of flimsies and handed it to her. Inwardly she groaned. The stack must have been twenty centimeters high.

 

She took the first flimsy and looked at it. “Complainant: Mrs. Ella Dandrin, 325 Front Street. Nature of complaint: Dog owned by Sergeant Malcom Girgank, F Company, severely damaged Mrs. Dandrin’s flower bed. Compensation desired: 50 marks or two hours labor to effect repairs.”

 

Anny sighed again. “Well, let’s get to it.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“It won’t last forever, Anny.” Jer looked at the woman he loved and reached out and squeezed her hand. “You survived a lot worse than this, girl. A lot worse!”

 

“I know and I keep telling myself that. But it’s just so… I don’t know. It finally seemed like everything was coming together and now this. I probably won’t be able to go to the fleet with 1st Battalion next year and by the time I am allowed to come back, I’ll probably be assigned to some other company and have to start all over again.”

 

“Well, at least that gives us a little more time together.”

 

“True,” she said and smiled at him. She was sitting on one end of his bed while he was on the other.

 

“Who’s running your platoon?”

 

“Technically, Kay is in command, but I’ve heard that First Sergeant Nikolaidis is keeping a very close watch on him. I had a little talk with Vorstang before I left.”

 

“And just how is the work at Public Relations? Frustrating? Boring?” _Pointless?_

 

“I’m not sure. Some of the bureaucratic bullshit can be pretty frustrating, but the variety of things I have to deal with keeps it from getting too boring. Still, some of it is pretty… hard.” Jer looked closely at Anny’s face. Something in her tone made him think that ‘hard’ didn’t just mean complicated.

 

“Hard?”

 

Anny sighed. “Yesterday I went and visited a woman who had been beaten to a pulp by her husband. Bruises all over her face. The complaint had been sent in by a friend but this woman refused to admit that anything had happened. She ‘fell down’ is all she’d say. She won’t press charges and there wasn’t really anything I could do. I passed along what I’d found to this guy’s CO, but I doubt anything will be done. And she’s not the only one like that, either.”

 

“That’s… disturbing,” said Jer, shocked. “I never realized that there was a lot of that stuff going on.”

 

Anny shrugged. “Peacetime army. The men get bored, despite all that we can do to keep them busy, then they get drunk and… well, we’ve trained them to use violence. So they do.”

 

“Damn…”

 

“I don’t know how much good I’m going to be able to do with that sort of thing, but maybe I can at least get the smaller stuff sorted out. Just this week we managed to work through almost a third of the backlog that had built up. But those other things…” She shook her head and frowned.

 

Jer squeezed Anny’s hand again. He could sense her frustration at not being able to solve _every_ problem. That was her nature: a burning desire for perfection. “ _Everything done well for the glory of God”_ was how she put it, although he knew that was a quote from Countess Vorkosigan. Anny didn’t seem to have any deep religious beliefs that Jer had ever noticed, but her drive to make everything right was almost the same thing. Perfectionism led some officers to become martinets, hounding their subordinates to distraction. Anny was no martinet; instead she set a standard for herself and silently dared her subordinates _not_ to follow. At the Academy, it had worked and her company had been the best in the battalion (in Jer’s humble opinion). Here with the 61 st, it looked like she had been accomplishing the same thing with her platoon. But how could such a thing work to keep men from beating their wives?

 

He was trying to think of something to say when there was a knocking on his door, which opened immediately. Alby was there with Sven Estaban. “Hey guys! Ready to go look at our new abode?”

 

“Oh, uh, sure,” said Jer. He’d forgotten that Alby wanted to go inspect the house he wanted to buy today. With the reservists gone, it was vacant again. They followed Alby out and were soon on a bus heading into town. From the town square, Alby took them to his realtor, who gave them the key to the house. From there it was only a short walk to the house itself. Alby let them in and they walked around inside. The place wasn’t new, but it was well-maintained and freshly cleaned after its recent occupants had left. There was a nice kitchen and common room and he and Anny would have their own bedroom and bath.

 

“I can get a yard service to take care of the lawn and the gardens,” said Alby. “With the two dog-robbers to take care of the laundry and groceries and some of the cooking, it will be great, don’t you think?”

 

“For what you plan to charge us, it will be a huge bargain,” said Estaban. “I’m for it.”

 

“Jer? Anny?” asked Alby. “You okay with this?”

 

Jer looked to Anny. She’d been getting quieter and quieter. “Anny?”

 

She grimaced and looked at Alby. “Alby? I’m sorry, but I can’t do this.”

 

“What? Why not? I thought we had this all worked out!” Alby looked surprised and annoyed.

 

“Let her talk,” said Jer. “Anny?”

 

She took a breath and gave him a tiny smile that faded immediately. “You all know about my new assignment. It’s taken me away from the Regiment. I don’t like that and I’m worried that I might have a hard time getting back. So I’ve decided that I’m going to do everything I can to stay close. I’m going to attend dress parade every day; I’m going to join one of the fencing teams; I’ll keep eating at the Officers’ Mess… and I want to keep living in the BOQ. I’m sorry to mess up your plans, Alby, but I really have to do this.”

 

“And where you go—or stay—so goes Jer, I’d assume.” Alby didn’t look happy, but his anger seemed to be fading.

 

“Yup, pretty much,” said Jer. He wasn’t surprised that Anny had made this decision. He was a little relieved, in fact.

 

Alby looked at Estaban. “Sven, I could still do this if you want.”

 

Estaban looked around skeptically. “This place is way too big for just the two of us. Unless you wanted to invite some other officers to join us. Maybe we should just wait on this.”

 

Alby tapped his fingers against the side of his trousers in frustration. “Yeah, all right.”

 

“I’m sorry, Alby,” said Anny.

 

“No… no, I was just over-eager on this. We can wait; you guys can save some money; and we can try this again once you’re back with the regiment. We’ve got time. Of course you—we—still have to consider dear old Vorkerkas and his friends.”

 

“We’ll deal with that,” said Jer. Privately, he hoped they could.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“… and the 283rd should have their other six tanks back in mothballs by the end of the week, sir. I’m afraid the 139th left a bit of a mess in their barracks when they moved out, in spite of all the orders we issued directing them not to. I’ve alerted the cleaning staff and we’ll get that taken care of and finish winterizing the unoccupied buildings. No problem getting it done before the first snows.”

 

“Good,” said General Vorsilva. “Ernest? What’s the supply situation?”

 

Anny sat nervously at the far end of the conference table and listened to the other members of the brigade staff make their reports. She’d been very surprised to learn that she was expected to attend the weekly staff meetings. The S-9 office seemed to be so completely out of sight and out of mind that she’d assumed the General would want to keep it that way.

 

She listened carefully to each of the other officers. Since she was supposedly here to learn she might as well learn. And who knew, perhaps one of these other staff officers might escape back to their real units and leave a vacancy Anny could move into. Operations, Planning, even Training would be more interesting than Public Relations!

 

Finally it was her turn. The General turned his eyes on her. “So, Miss Payne,” he said pleasantly, “How are things in your department? Getting settled in?”

 

“Yes, sir,” she replied just as pleasantly. “There was quite a backlog left by the departure of the previous S-9 officer but we are getting that all cleaned up. The men in the department all know their jobs very well.”

 

“Good,” said Vorsilva. “So no problems to report? Any complaints?” He looked at her with a strange expression and she hesitated before replying.

 

“No sir, nothing out of the ordinary, anyway.” She certainly had plenty of problems, but she didn’t think Vorsilva wanted a list of them.

 

“Indeed? Well, as it happens I’ve received a complaint about _you_.”

 

“Sir?” Anny sat up straighter with a queasy feeling in her stomach.

 

“Yes, from Captain Vortravis of the 319th Engineering Company. He says that you demanded to see one of his men about some sort of domestic… dispute. Is this true, Lieutenant?”

 

“I went to Captain Vortravis, yes sir. I explained the situation to him and suggested that a face-to-face meeting with Corporal Skolnikov might be productive… The Captain didn’t agree.” _And he just about threw me out on my ear._

 

“As well he shouldn’t!” snapped Vorsilva. “You’ve got no business interfering in someone else’s command! And just why the devil were you involved with this in the first place? Surely any sort of incident of this nature is a matter for the Provost!”

 

“The… the complaint form was there along with all the rest, sir. It had been forwarded to my office from the Provost, so I had to assume that I was expected to deal with it.”

 

Vorsilva’s head whipped around to look at the Provost officer. “That true, Petrov?”

 

“Uh, yes sir,” said the startled officer. “Standard procedure, sir, any domestic complaint, violent or otherwise, goes to S-9. Always been that way, sir.”

 

“I see,” growled the general. “Very well, then, Lieutenant Payne, you will continue to deal with matters of this kind. However, you are not authorized to approach any man in the brigade on an individual basis. Understood?”

 

“Yes sir. But how am I supposed to deal with these problems then, sir?”

 

“That’s your problem, Lieutenant! Send copies of the complaint to the man’s CO. Distribute some pamphlets. Use your head! Got it?”

 

“Yes. sir.” She had been sending copies of the complaints—even her predecessor had done that—but she hadn’t been getting any results. But the message from the General was clear: shut up and do your job!

 

So she did her job—or tried to. Over the next few weeks she and her men got caught up on all the backlog, but it seemed as though they had been sucked into a feedback loop. As word got around that complaints were actually being dealt with again, it only encouraged people to send in more of them. Anny’s ‘In’ basket started filling faster than she could empty it.

 

And even dealing with the routine problems started landing her in trouble.

 

“Miss Payne,” said General Vorsilva a month later, “over the last four weeks you’ve submitted a hundred and forty-three requests for maintenance to the Quartermaster. Are you under the impression that they have nothing better to do than fix leaky faucets in the family units?”

 

“No sir, but…”

 

“I can assure you they do have better things to do, Lieutenant! Part of your job is to screen out the frivolous complaints! Not to just pass them all along! A corporal could pass them along! I’ve ordered Captain Florkowski to send all of those requests back to you. You are to personally investigate each and every one of those and only pass along those that are genuinely urgent. Perhaps one in three might fit that category! You understand me?”

 

“Yes sir,” said Anny, silently gritting her teeth. She _had_ investigated most of the complaints and she _had_ only sent along those that seemed legitimate. But there was no use telling Vorsilva that.

 

“And that brings me to the next point, Lieutenant,” continued the General, pulling out a flimsy from his pile. He looked at it and then at her. “Thirty-six requests for payment! You’ve sent thirty-six requests for payment to the Paymaster! Totaling eight hundred and fourteen marks! Payments to civilians! What in God’s name do you think you are doing, girl?”

 

“I… General, the operating procedures for my department state that any legitimate claims for damages caused by military personnel to civilian property should be paid by…”

 

“Don’t quote regulations to me, Lieutenant!” snapped Vorsilva. “Your job is to smooth the relations between the civilians and us! Not bankrupt the Empire!” Vorsilva leaned back in his chair. “Since you don’t seem to be able to understand this, I’m going to spell it out for you in very small words: Keep the civilians happy. Don’t spend our money. Don’t waste our time! That’s all! That is the full extent of your job! Is that clear, Lieutenant?”

 

“Yes sir. Perfectly clear.”

 

“Good! Now, moving on to other matters…”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“But you said I’d be paid for the damage!”

 

Anny looked at the angry face on her comconsoles screen and sighed. “I’m sorry, Mister Mugwait, I put in the request for payment but it has been refused. I’m afraid there is nothing more I can do.”

 

“Nothing? Nothing! I’m out eighty marks in damages done by your soldiers and there’s nothing you can do?” The man sounded outraged.

 

“If you’d called the Patrol and they’d been caught in the act, the damage could have been taken out of the men’s pay but since you didn’t…”

 

“I _did_ call the patrol! But they were gone by the time it arrived!”

 

“I’m sorry but…”

 

“You promised me! I thought you had honor. But I guess I was wrong, wasn’t I?” The man cut the connection. Anny stared at the blank screen. _Don’t make promises you can’t keep._ The worst of it was that she _had_ promised the man that he’d be paid. It had all seemed routine until Vorsilva overruled her. And Mugwait wasn’t the only one she’d made promises to. _Great._

It was quitting time. She shut down the comconsole and left her office. Her staff were all getting ready to leave, too. She locked the door to the main office behind her.

 

“See you tomorrow, sir,” said Corporal Kane.

 

She left the brigade HQ and got into a utility vehicle. One of the few perks that came with her job was that she rated her own vehicle due to all the time she needed to spend in town. A lot of officers owned their own vehicles, but she couldn’t afford one. She sped back to her quarters and put on her dress greens and made it to the parade ground in time for dress parade. She stood with the other commissioned staff officers just as she had on her very first day with the 61st. Colonel Fetherbay had made no objection to her being there although most detached officers rarely bothered.

 

As the parade finished up and they were dismissed, she looked at the sunset. The days were getting shorter with the end of summer. By the end of autumn, the time for dress parade would be moved up by an hour and she wouldn’t be able to make them anymore without skipping out from work early. Maybe she could make some arrangement to come in early and leave early. It was stupid, really, she was just a spectator with no function, but she wanted to be here. She wanted to at least feel like a soldier once in a while.

 

She met Jer and Alby and Sven Estaban at the Officer’s Mess for dinner as she always did. Jer and Sven talked about their days with their platoons, Alby talked about the simulator project—which finally seemed to be making some progress. Anny didn’t say much. What was there to say?

 

After dinner, she changed into her fencing gear. It was her night for practice. She’d continued to work with Ensign Vorgard and she had made a lot of progress. Fencing seemed just the thing to work out her frustration. She was still just a beginner, but she’d qualified for one of the junior teams and had done well in a couple of matches. She had tried a number of different weapons, but seemed drawn to the sabre.

 

“Well done, Anny!” said Vorgard after one particularly hard-fought touch. “I think we’re going to have to find you a new teacher soon. I can’t teach you much more with a sabre. I’m a foil man myself.”

 

“Thanks, Eric,” said Anny, removing her helmet. “Can you suggest anyone?”

 

Now Vorgard looked embarrassed. “Well, the one I’d recommend for anyone else probably wouldn’t be a good choice for you…”

 

“Vorkerkas?” She looked to where the man was practicing.

 

“Yeah, he’s really good, but I know you’d prefer to steer clear of him. That being the case, I’d suggest Major Waski.”

 

“Really?” Anny was surprised; she rarely saw Waski at practice.

 

“He was the regimental sabre champion a few years back… well, more than a few. But I bet he could help you.”

 

“Okay, I’ll ask him. Thanks. Ready for another go?”

 

“Sure.” They put their helmets back on and practiced for another twenty minutes. Anny had worked up a good sweat by the end of it. She was getting ready to put away her gear when she saw Vorkerkas and several of his friends heading her way. _Great. Now what?_

 

“So, Payne, still pretending to be a soldier?” one of them asked. She didn’t answer.

 

“Oh, don’t be so condescending, Georg,” said Vorkerkas. “While we’ve been out playing with our toys, Payne here has been waging a _real_ battle. She’s trying to get the troopers to stop beating up their frills. You should see the fierce memos she’s fired off!”

 

The others all laughed loudly. “A hopeless battle, that one!”

 

“Yes, soldiers have always beat their women. It’s traditional!”

 

“Does ‘em good!”

 

“Yeah, Payne you ought to experience a beating sometime and see. Bet it does you some good, too!”

 

“No chance of that,” laughed Vorkerkas. “It would take a real man and she doesn’t have one!” The others roared again.

 

Anny clenched her fists but forced herself not to reply. But she couldn’t keep the fury off her face and Vorkerkas saw it and grinned. “I understand you’ve gotten pretty good with a sabre, Payne. Want to renew our match?”

 

There was nothing she’d like better, but she knew she wasn’t ready. “Not tonight, sir,” she said as evenly as she could. “Perhaps another time.”

 

Vorkerkas laughed. “Yes, another time.” He and his friends moved off.

 

_Another time._

 

 

* * *

 

 

Anny got back to the BOQ but Jer wasn’t there. She took a very long shower letting the hot water massage her muscles. Unfortunately it couldn’t do anything to sooth her anger. Damn Vorkerkas! Damn Vorsilva, too! It was just like her first year at the Academy! Bullshit coming at her from every direction. Well, she’d survived that. She could survive this too.

 

While she was drying off she heard the incoming call beeper on her comconsole. Putting on her robe she sat down and looked at the caller identification.

 

_What the hell?_

 

The call was coming from Giverson’s Store in her home town of Red Rocks! Who in the world…? She hit the accept key.

 

The face of a young woman materialized on the screen. It took her a moment to recognize her younger sister Jenna.

 

“Anny? Anny! Oh thank God I found you!”

 

“Jenna! What’s wrong?” There were tears on her sister’s face.

 

“Oh, Anny! Can you come home? Right away? Oh, we’re in an awful fix!”

 

 

**Chapter 9**

 

 **“Y** ou could just use that, Anny,” said Jer. “No one would ever know.” He sat on the chair in his room and watched Anny turning a small card over and over in her hands. It was a credit chit and it contained a very substantial sum of money.

 

“I’d know,” she said, after a long pause.

 

“It’s not like you’d be spending it on yourself! Your family needs help, Anny!”

 

“It’s still against regulations. Officers aren’t allowed to take money as a reward for their actions—or for any other reason for that matter.”

 

Jer grimaced. It was true and it did make a lot of sense. Particularly on Barrayar. Over the centuries there had been many coups and revolts against the Empire. And many of them began with the conspirators buying the loyalty of military officers. There were very strict rules against officers taking money from others now. The credit chit Anny was twirling had been given to her by Lord Mark Vorkosigan for her heroic feats on the planet Dounby in their senior year at the Academy. At the time neither one of them had looked at those parts of the regulations and Anny had just kept the chit, unsure what to do with it.

 

“Well then, what are you going to do, Anny? This is one problem I don’t think you are going to be able to solve by putting your head down and bulling through the way you usually do. You are going to need help!”

 

Anny sighed and looked at him. “Yeah, you’re right. And I think I know where to get it.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Lord Auditor Miles Vorkosigan smiled and got to his feet when Pym ushered Anny Payne into the Yellow Parlor of Vorkosigan House. Tsipis, the man who managed the finances of the Vorkosigans, also rose from his chair although a bit more slowly. The man’s hair was completely gray now. He’d been mumbling things about retirement lately.

 

“Anny! It’s so good to see you again!” Miles came forward and took the woman’s hands briefly.

 

“Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, sir,” said Anny, smiling for a moment. The woman seemed unusually nervous.

 

“Glad I was able to. Gregor keeps me hopping, but I was lucky to be home when you called. You know Tsipis, I think?”

 

“Yes, sir, we’ve met a few times.”

 

“Six times, to be precise,” said Tsipis. “Winterfairs mostly. Good to see you again, Lieutenant.” They shook hands.

 

“Come, sit down,” said Miles. “Can I offer you something? Ekaterin will have lunch waiting for us when we’re done, though.”

 

“Then I can wait, thank you, sir. Even the Regimental Officer’s Mess can’t compete with a Ma Kosti lunch.” They all found chairs and Anny perched on the edge of hers like a cadet.

 

“So I understand your family has run into some difficulty, Anny? How can I help?”

 

“Well, I’m not sure that you can, sir, but I didn’t know where else to turn. And my mother and sisters are citizens of your district so I thought…”

 

“Why don’t you explain the problem, Lieutenant,” said Tsipis. “I can’t imagine any problem that my lord couldn’t solve.”

 

“Yes sir. Well, it’s a bit complicated. My mother is a widow, my father died about six years ago. After that—after I left for the Academy—she found a boyfriend, a man named Monti Heinz. He moved in with her on our farm. Even though they didn’t marry, my mother sort of turned everything over to him. Anyway, a few weeks ago he sold the farm, took the money and disappeared. My mother didn’t find out what he’d done until the person he’d sold it to showed up and gave her and my sisters a week to pack up and leave.”

 

Miles frowned and clenched his fist. “The bastard. Heinz, I mean.”

 

“Did your mother actually sign over the deed to the farm, Lieutenant?” asked Tsipis.

 

“I don’t know, sir. My mother was sort of incoherent when I talked to her on the comconsole. Frankly, I don’t know that there even is a paper deed. My family has lived there for nine generations.”

 

“Yes, the lack of records is often a problem in the Dendarii Mountains,” said Tsipis, nodding. “Nearly all the records that existed for the Time of Isolation were lost during the Cetagandan Occupation…”

 

“Vaporized along with Vorkosigan Vashnoi,” muttered Miles.

 

“Yes, and even now far too much of the business done there is based on a handshake rather than a contract.”

 

“Well, if there’s no paperwork and you mother didn’t approve, I’d have to think that the sale was illegal,” said Miles. “We ought to be able to get it reversed without much trouble…”

 

“Possibly, my lord,” said Tsipis, who raised an eyebrow in caution. “I should say that you certainly _can_ reverse it in either your capacity as your father’s Voice or as an Imperial Auditor, but as for how much trouble it might cause… I don’t have to remind you, my lord, of how strong-willed the Dendarii hillsmen are. If the buyer feels that he’s been wronged…” Tsipis shrugged.

 

“Just how much money are we talking about, Anny?”

 

She named a sum and Miles snorted. “A pittance. I’d say just pay off the buyer now and worry about tracking down this Heinz character at our leisure.”

 

“My lord, I can’t ask you to…”

 

“Anny, if it was ten times as much, it wouldn’t make a dent in what I owe you!”

 

“Well, that’s not really the point, sir.” Anny was looking very nervous and Miles watched as she pulled a credit chit out of her pocket. “I… I made a mistake on my apprentice cruise. On the way back home I met your brother on Hegan Hub…”

 

“Yes, he mentioned that to me.”

 

“Well, he was very happy with what had happened on Dounby and he wanted to thank me for it…”

 

“As well he should!”

 

“Uh, and he gave me this, sir. I should have just refused it, but I wasn’t thinking too clearly at the time. It’s a lot of money, sir, and by the regulations I can’t accept it. By those same regulations, I shouldn’t accept any money from you, even if it is to help my family.”

 

Miles frowned. “I don’t think the cases are really the same, Anny. This wouldn’t be a reward and wouldn’t directly benefit you. And if we can get the original sum of money back again, it would be like it never happened. Right, Tsipis?”

 

The man pulled at his chin. “I’d have to look into it, my lord. I’m not that familiar with the military regulations. But frankly, if you, as your father, the Count’s Voice decided to assist a widow living in your district, I can’t imagine that it’s any business of the military’s.”

 

“There, you see? And even if I can’t do it as my father’s Voice, I can damn well do it as an Imperial Auditor. I don’t have to answer to anyone but Gregor about that!”

 

“If you can do something, sir, I’d be very, very grateful. And if you could take this off my hands, I’d appreciate it, too.” She held out the credit chit and Miles took it.

 

“Anny, I doubt very much that anyone would have ever known about this if you’d acted cautiously.”

 

“I’d have known, sir.”

 

Miles grinned. “I would have wagered the full content of this chit that you were going to say that, Anny.” The woman had an integrity and devotion to duty that he admired. In spite of all the crap they’d thrown at her at the Academy, she’d never once asked for any favoritism from her high-powered backers. Miles was pleased that here, finally, there was something he could help her with.

 

The woman smiled for a moment. “There’s something else, too, sir. Before I realized I shouldn’t have it, I gave some of the money away to set up a memorial fund for Zac Karal in Silvey Vale. I’m not sure what should be done about that.”

 

“So that’s where that came from! Harra Csurik told me about an ‘anonymous donor’ who had helped her set up a scholarship fund, but she wouldn’t tell me who it was!”

 

“I… I hope she doesn’t have to return the money, sir.”

 

Miles waved his hand. “Relax. As far as anyone will ever know, the money came from Mark directly. Which is what the records will show, after all, even without any Auditorial slight-of-hand. In fact, if you want, I can just add the rest of this to the fund, too.”

 

“My lord, perhaps you might want to spread Lord Mark’s ‘gift’ around a bit,” said Tsipis. “There are other needy villages in the Dendarii.”

 

“Quite right! Good idea! Starting with a certain needy widow in, what was it? Red Rocks?”

 

“Yes, my lord.” Anny was smiling again and this time it didn’t fade. “I can’t thank you enough, sir.”

 

“Glad I can be of some help. Of course, Tsipis here will do all the real work. I’ll alert the local police services to be on the lookout for that Heinz character and issue a cease-and-desist order as far as evicting your family goes.” He stood up and dusted his hands. “And that should be that! Just in time for lunch!”

 

He escorted Anny and Tsipis down to the dining room where Ekaterin, Helen and Sasha—and lunch—were waiting. Helen was especially keen to see Anny. She’d developed an attachment to her as a toddler when Anny was staying at Vorkosigan House prior to entering the Academy. It was a jolly lunch although Miles could tell from some of the answers Anny gave to Helen’s endless questions that she wasn’t happy about her new staff assignment. He thought back to his own initial assignment after leaving the Academy. Weather officer! On Kyrill Island! The worst assignment imaginable. He’d been hoping to be posted to the _Prince Serg_ , Barrayar’s biggest and newest and most powerful warship at the time. He could still feel the disappointment. But as he’d found out later, if he’d just kept his mouth shut and done his job he would have gotten his posting on the _Prince Serg_ in only a few more months.

 

But naturally he hadn’t kept his mouth shut and he never did get that dream posting. Considering where he’d ended up, he couldn’t really complain about it anymore, but he hoped that Anny would have the sense to keep her temper in check. He could pull a few strings for her if necessary, but he knew she wouldn’t want that and it would be better if he didn’t have to.

 

“Well, this has been very nice,” he said as the dessert dishes were cleared away. “But I have an appointment with the Emperor shortly. Anny, do you have a way to get back to your base? How did you get here? Not the monorail, I hope!”

 

“No sir, I managed to grab a ride on a shuttle that was coming to Vorbarr Sultana. Not sure how I’m getting back. I’ll have to check to see if there’s anything headed up that way. But I don’t have duty until tomorrow, so I’m sure I’ll make it somehow.”

 

“Nonsense! Pym, get Roic to take her there in the lightflyer. We can use the ground car to get to the palace.”

 

“Very good, my lord,” said the armsman.

 

As Anny said good bye to Helen, Ekaterin approached him. “Miles, could you take the children with you to the palace? I’ve set up a play date with Laisa, but there’s somewhere I think I want to go.”

 

“Sure, not a problem. But where are you going?”

 

“I think I’d like to go with Anny. I haven’t had the chance for a real woman-to-woman talk with her in ages. And some of the things she was saying about her new job. Well, I’d like to have a talk with her.”

 

“All right, that sounds fine. Just don’t encourage her to start making waves! Stuff like this is just how the military works.”

 

“Making waves? Heaven forbid! Where in the world would I _ever_ get any ideas about making waves?” She smiled at him and leaned over to give him a kiss.

 

He returned the smile and the kiss and then they both rounded up their charges and headed to the front door. Pym and Roic had their vehicles ready. Miles waited to see Roic, Anny and Ekaterin lift off and then herded the kids into the big armored ground car. Both Helen and Sasha were complaining about not being able to go with their mother and Anny.

 

“Your mother wants some time alone with Anny,” explained Miles. “Grown up talk between women. Even _I’m_ not allowed to sit in on something like that!” This mollified Helen a bit, but Sasha complained that then he’d _never_ know what was going on and that wasn’t fair. The ensuing discussion on the fairness of life lasted until they reached the palace. Miles dropped the children off with their royal playmates, chatted briefly with the Empress, and then he made his way to Gregor’s private office.

 

Miles had slowly come to accept the fact that he was now one of Gregor’s chief advisors. The two of them had always been able to speak to each other openly and bluntly and now that Miles’ days of galactic gallivanting were behind him, they were traveling in the same circles again. In spite of himself Miles was becoming an expert on Imperial politics and policy. It was a role that his father had once filled…

 

The majordomo ushered Miles into Gregor’s office. The Emperor was seated behind his enormous desk with the multiple comconsole displays as usual. The man had always—well almost always—been a workaholic. Marriage and parenthood had pulled him away from that for a while, but it seemed that he was being dragged back to it step by step. Miles was tempted to warn him about that except he knew Gregor would warn him about exactly the same thing in return. Old habits never really died.

 

“Afternoon,” said Miles cheerily. “What’s up?”

 

“Afternoon, Miles,” replied the Emperor. “Have a seat.” Miles complied and looked at his liege-lord expectantly. “Do you remember the discussion we had three or four months ago about the situation on Nova Paveo?”

 

“Hmmm? Oh, right. Hadn’t heard anything about that for so long I thought maybe it was a dead issue.”

 

“Sadly no. It seems that the Nuevo Brasilians were just marshaling their resources and making preparations. As we suspected, they aren’t taking the Paveons’ bid for independence lying down and it’s turning just as ugly as we feared.”

 

“Massacres?” Miles made an ugly face.

 

“Yes. All the usual atrocities, from the reports we’re getting. And that’s just from the forces they had on hand. They have a much larger force on the way. And this just came in from the Foreign Office.” He handed a flimsy to Miles. “The Polians have been moving ahead with their proposal and they’ve managed to line up an impressive—and surprising—number of backers.”

 

Miles looked over the list and whistled. “Beta Colony, Earth _and_ the Cetagandans? How can we possibly stay out of this now?”

 

“I don’t see how we can,” replied Gregor. “It would be a diplomatic embarrassment for us to refuse and it would also make the Cetagandans the de facto leaders of the expedition. We don’t want to allow that to happen.”

 

“Yes, we might end up just trading Nuevo Brasilian expansionism for Cetagandan. No bargain there.”

 

“Exactly,” nodded Gregor. “Barrayar must participate in this, I think. Perhaps even take the lead if we can.”

 

“It won’t be a hard sell for the military,” said Miles. “They’ve been itching for some action for years. If we can keep the cost down, most of the counts won’t have a problem with it, either. What size force are you thinking to send?”

 

“I’ve discussed it with General Vordalla and his people. They were recommending a corps-sized force, but I think we’ll probably pare that down to about a reinforced division—four regiments plus support. The size of the foreign contingents will affect that, of course.”

 

Miles smirked. “Gonna be a lot of people wanting to get in on this, Gregor. Nothing like a campaign ribbon or a medal or two to brighten up a fellow’s tunic.”

 

“As you well know, Miles,” smiled Gregor. “But not everyone’s going to be willing to go all the way out there. It’s a four-month trip one way. But we’ll leave who’s going to the generals. It will be at least a couple of months before things start to move. In the meantime, I want your advice on how best to present this to the counts and the public. The humanitarian aspects will need to be played up for some audiences and the strategic implications for others.”

 

“Yes,” replied Miles. “Well, let’s see what we can come up with…”

 

They brainstormed for over an hour and devised what seemed a good plan. A lot of other people would have to work out the details, but it was a start. Gregor leaned back in his chair and stretched. “I hope we’re not making a mistake with this. The generals and the politicians and the diplomats might be all in favor, but I can’t help but think about the poor sods who might end up doing the fighting and dying.”

 

“Well, we can always hope there won’t be much fighting. With half the great powers lined up against them, the EnBees might back down.”

 

“We can hope. But the EnBees have never paid much attention to that sort of pressure before.”

 

“I guess we’ll see what happens,” said Miles raising an eyebrow and smiling. “We done?”

 

“Yes… oh, no, not quite. One other thing was brought to my attention that I thought you might be interested in.” He pulled a flimsy out of another pile and handed it to Miles. It had an ImpSec letterhead.

 

“Damn!” he snapped after reading it. “How can they do that? I mean he hasn’t been in jail even two years! Can’t you reverse this, Gregor?”

 

The Emperor shrugged. “It’s more normal for me to pardon people, Miles, not _un_ -pardon them. And he has a few strong supporters and they’ve pointed out that he never actually _did_ anything.”

 

“But he planned to! He admitted it under fast-penta! It was a conspiracy!”

 

“True. But he did get cashiered and he did go to prison. Punishment enough, some people say.”

 

Miles cursed again. “But what if he’s looking for payback? He could be dangerous.”

 

“I’ve asked ImpSec to keep an eye on him. Allegre said he would, but I can tell he’s not happy about devoting resources to this.”

 

Miles frowned. This wasn’t good. But wait… “Gregor, perhaps we should take a more active role in deciding just who gets sent to Nova Paveo. We might be able to kill two birds with one stone here.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Anny watched Vorbarr Sultana dwindling below them as the lightflyer gained altitude and speed and slowly relaxed. She could scarcely believe that the issue with her family and the farm had been settled so quickly and easily! She’d known from her sisters for a while that things had become pretty rocky between her mother and Monti, but no one had been expecting this. For a while she’d been afraid she was going to have to bring her mother and sisters to Malverton and try and find them somewhere to live. Then she’d thought of Lord Vorkosigan and it had clearly been the right decision. It was an enormous load off her and she looked forward to telling her family the good news. She supposed she really ought to go visit them sometime…

 

They passed through a layer of clouds and the view was lost. She turned to look at the woman sitting next to her. Lady Ekaterin Vorkosigan was nearly as tall as her and with almost the same hair color although it was much longer than Anny’s per-the-regulations haircut. The woman was nearly twenty years older, but she wore her years very well. Anny hoped she would look that good at her age. But why was she coming along?

 

“I can’t begin to thank the Lord Auditor for his help,” she ventured. “I didn’t know what to do.”

 

“Oh, he was glad to do it, Anny, you can be sure. He still feels a bit guilty about putting you and your friends in harm’s way during the fire.”

 

“What?” said Anny, startled. She and her company had helped to save a small village from a forest fire in her junior year. It was obvious the place was special to Lord Vorkosigan but… “We were just doing our duty.”

 

“Yes, but he sent you there and if you’d been hurt it would have been his responsibility. He feels things like that very deeply—and he doesn’t forget.” Lady Ekaterin looked at her with a strange half-smile. “And he has this thing about damsels in distress.”

 

“I… I’m hardly a damsel,” protested Anny, gesturing to her uniform.

 

The older woman laughed. “Miles has a very broad interpretation of the term, I think.” Her smile faded. She glanced forward to where Armsman Roic was piloting the lightflyer and then hit a switch and the privacy screen slid up. “You never met Sergeant Taura, did you?”

 

“No, who is he?” replied Anny, shaking her head.

 

“Was. She died a few months ago.”

 

“I, uh, I’m sorry to hear that.” _She?_

 

“She was special to Miles. One of his old comrades from his ImpSec days. When someone becomes special to Miles, he’ll move worlds for them. He’s just like that. I think you’ve become special to him, yourself, Anny.”

 

She felt dazed. “Is that why you came along? To tell me this?”

 

“No, not really. But for all the time you’ve spent in Vorkosigan House it seems like we’ve hardly ever had a chance to speak privately.”

 

“Is… is there something else you want to talk to me about?”

 

“Perhaps I should be asking you that question.”

 

“My lady?”

 

“Please, we’re alone here. Call me Ekaterin. I know you don’t want to, but try. Okay?” She smiled at her and kept smiling until Anny finally nodded her head.

 

“All right.”

 

“All right what? You can say my name, can’t you?”

 

“All right… Ekaterin.”

 

“Good! That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

 

“No worse than the old ‘Yes, First Sergeant!’ drill, I guess.”

 

Lady Ekaterin actually laughed at that and in spite of herself Anny found that she was relaxing. She’d always liked Ekaterin, but as she’d said, they’d had few chances for a real conversation.

 

“I was hoping that you could tell me more about your new assignment, Anny. You were a bit vague answering Helen’s questions at lunch.”

 

“Oh. Well, there really isn’t a lot to tell, my… Ekaterin. As one of my men described it, we’re the complaint department. I’m supposed to keep the civilians—both the townspeople and the soldiers’ families—happy. Sooth ruffled feathers. That sort of thing.”

 

“Sounds like an important job.”

 

Anny snorted before she could stop herself. “It could be, I suppose, but with the constraints put on us all we can really do is listen to problems, not solve them.”

 

“Constraints?”

 

Anny shrugged. “No budget, no authority, no… cooperation.”

 

“I see. But can you tell me about the kind of complaints you get?”

 

Anny tried and Ekaterin kept up a steady stream of penetrating questions and eventually she’d told her just about everything about her job. Finally she asked the woman: “Ekaterin, why are you so interested in all this?”

 

“What? I can’t be curious about a friend’s job?” she replied. “But no, you’re right, I have another motive.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“You know that Miles is running the district while his father is on Sergyar?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Well, I’ve been trying to help him as much as I can. It’s a big job. I started out overseeing land reclamation projects and the like because of my interest in botany and gardening. Then I was helping repair the damage left from the forest fire. But that inevitably put me into close contact with a lot of the people in the district. People started coming to me with their problems. All-in-all it sounds like your job is very similar to mine. Except I do have a budget and quite a bit of authority.”

 

“That’s interesting,” said Anny in surprise. “I never would have thought of that.”

 

“I never expected it when I first started, either. But there are some very needy people up in those mountains—I hardly need to tell you that! I do what I can and I think we’ve made a lot of progress in the last few years. Especially when it comes to health care and education. Kids going to college are up, infanticides are way down.”

 

“That’s wonderful.” Anny knew that there were still some spots where newborns who showed any sign of mutations were killed.

 

“It’s rewarding work,” said Ekaterin, nodding. “But we can’t solve every problem. And one problem I’ve run into from time to time made me want to have this talk with you, Anny.”

 

“Really? What?”

 

“Domestic violence.”

 

“Oh dear…”

 

“You never said a word about that in the description of your job, Anny, but I can’t believe that you haven’t run into it at Fort Vorolson.”

 

Anny sighed. “Yes… yes, I’ve run into it.”

 

“A lot?”

 

“I don’t know how you’d define ‘a lot’. One seems too much. I’ve had about a dozen cases brought to my attention. And I have to believe that there are more cases where no complaint is ever filed…”

 

“The ratio is about five to one in my experience, maybe worse than that,” said Ekaterin. There was no smile on her face.

 

“Yeah… yeah, I guess I suspected that.”

 

“So what do you when you get a case like that?”

 

Anny sighed again and shrugged. “There really isn’t much I can do. If a complaint reaches my desk it’s almost always one that was filed by a friend or neighbor of the victim. With no eye-witness testimony—and usually no complaint from the victim—the provost won’t take action. I have no law-enforcement authority, so it’s not like I can arrest the offender. Heck, I’m not even allowed to talk to them to try and work something out.”

 

“Not allowed?”

 

“I tried at first; the COs of the men involved complained that I was interfering in their commands and I was given a cease-and-desist order by the general.” Anny suddenly realized what she was saying and stared at Ekaterin. “You didn’t hear that from me.”

 

“Don’t worry, I won’t pass that on. It’s about what I expected, actually.”

 

“Are you having similar problems in the district?”

 

“Yes. The old traditions die hard. Any time I’ve tried to deal with an individual, his friends and neighbors close ranks and nothing short of fast-penta interrogations will bring out the truth—and that’s not something I want to resort to.”

 

“So how do you deal with it?”

 

Ekaterin didn’t answer right away. She stared out the window of the lightflyer for a few moments before looking back at Anny. “You know that I was married before I met Miles?”

 

“Uh, sure. Your son, Nikolai, is from your first marriage, before you were widowed.”

 

“Yes. But what few people know is that my first marriage was… abusive.”

 

Anny gasped and instinctively searched Ekaterin’s face for bruises or scars even though she’d never seen any before.

 

“Not physically abusive,” added Ekaterin. “But there are other forms of abuse and they can be just as destructive as actual violence.” She paused again for a moment. “The worst thing—or it seems like the worst thing now—was the… hopelessness. I couldn’t see any way out without breaking all those old traditions. And I felt totally alone. There was no one to turn to for help.”

 

“I’m sorry,” whispered Anny, shocked.

 

“Don’t be. I know now that much of my problem was self-inflicted. Not because I deserved my abuse—oh, how many women fall into that trap!—but because I didn’t do anything to escape it. Because that’s the thing, Anny: there is help out there. Good people who will help you if you only ask and who won’t think less of you if you do. When I found that help, it was like… I don’t know how to describe it… it was a gift beyond price.”

 

“But how do you find the help?” asked Anny in growing eagerness. She realized that she had desperately wanted to talk to someone about this. Another woman. Jer had been as supportive and sympathetic as she could ask for, but it wasn’t enough.

 

“Well, that’s the trick, isn’t it?” said Ekaterin with a bitter smile. “Most are afraid to ask, afraid to offer, afraid of doing something… _embarrassing_.”

 

“So how do you get around that?”

 

“It’s not easy. Most don’t even want to admit that there is a problem. So I’ve found that the indirect approach is the best. Get the victims involved in something else. Something that’s not embarrassing. Win their trust and then… maybe… bring up the big problem. What I’ve tried to do in the district is set up women’s groups. Groups that can provide advice and help on a wide range of subjects. Child care, better farming techniques, financial planning, health and sanitation, dozens of things. Then, once the groups are established, we start slipping in things like contraception and counseling and support services for women in abusive relationships.”

 

“And it’s working?”

 

“It’s helping, I think. It’s not a problem that we’ll ever be able to solve completely, but this is a start.” Ekaterin paused and looked at Anny. “I’m thinking that you might be able to do something similar where you are.”

 

“I… yes, yes, it might work! But I’m not sure how to set something like that up…” It was an exciting idea.

 

“Well, you have a couple of big advantages, Anny. One is that all the people are concentrated. In the district, I’m dealing with hundreds of tiny villages scattered over thousands of square kilometers and with people who rarely travel very far. Second, you’ve got ready-made group leaders. I couldn’t run the groups I set up myself; I had to find women willing to do it. Here you’ve got yourself, plus the wives of the officers.”

 

“There is already a sort of informal group among the officers’ wives,” said Anny, thinking back to the talk she’d given for Mrs. Fetherbay. “But it’s only for them, not the enlisted men’s wives.—and that’s where nearly all the trouble is.”

 

“Yes. That’s what I expected,” said Ekaterin. “But I guess we’ll have to make some changes, won’t we?”

 

“We?” asked Anny in surprise.

 

“Help, Anny. I’m offering to help. It’s an amazing concept, isn’t it?”

 

 

**Chapter 10**

 

 **“I** think this will be lovely! Lady Vorkosigan is going to be so pleased!”

 

Anny smiled as pleasantly as she could and nodded her head idiotically in response to Lady Penelope Vorsilva’s statement. Sara Fetherbay caught her eye and winked. It was three days after Ekaterin had visited the fort and Anny could scarcely believe how quickly her plan was taking shape. Upon reflection, however, she supposed she shouldn’t really have been surprised that Lady Vorsilva was throwing herself into this so enthusiastically. Sara had mentioned that the woman was a socialite at heart and the chance to get into the good graces of a future countess was something she just couldn’t ignore.

 

So the three of them were sitting at the dining room table of Vorsilva’s rather lavish house making plans for setting up women’s organizations for the entire brigade.

 

“Now we can put Dolores Waski in charge of the 2nd battalion group for the 61st and Regina Vorscans for the 283rd,” continued Vorsilva, “it’s a shame that that nice Captain Vorglanov isn’t married—he’s so handsome I can’t imagine why he isn’t—but maybe Louisa Vorjanis can fill in that spot for the 61st’s 1st battalion, then…”

 

“Uh, Penny?” said Sara. “Perhaps we shouldn’t automatically put the wives of the unit commanders in charge of the women’s groups.”

 

“What? Why not?” Lady Vorsilva looked puzzled.

 

“You remember what Lady Vorkosigan said: the women in the most need are going to be the wives of the enlistedmen. There’s already a huge divide between the officer’s wives and the enlisted wives. If we maintain that hierarchy in the women’s organizations, I’m afraid that enlisted wives are going to be intimidated and not feel like they have any real say—or stake—in the groups. Perhaps we should just set up the groups and let the natural leaders rise to the top—no matter what rank their husbands hold.”

 

Vorsilva looked taken back. “Oh, uh, she did mention something about that, didn’t she? But I just thought that… well, I suppose we could give it a try…”

 

“Hello, dear, sorry I’m late but… oh, hello, what do we have here?” General Vorsilva had come into the room and stopped dead. Anny popped to her feet, but the other two women didn’t move beyond turning their heads.

 

“Good evening, sir,” said Anny. The general was wearing his undress greens, just as she was, but his tunic was open and he was obviously surprised to find her there.

 

“Evening, Lieutenant,” replied Vorsilva, frowning. “What brings you here?”

 

“Honestly, Harold!” cried Lady Vorsilva. “Sometimes I don’t think you listen to a word I say!”

 

“What?”

 

“I told you all about Lady Vorkosigan’s visit, didn’t I?”

 

“Yes… at length…”

 

“And how she suggested setting up help groups for the wives?”

 

“Oh, that. Yes, of course. So that’s what you’re doing?”

 

“Of course! And it’s going splendidly!”

 

“Ah, well, good, good. But what is Lieutenant Payne doing here?” He was frowning at her and fumbling to close his tunic.

 

“What’s she doing here?” exclaimed Lady Vorsilva. “Her job is public relations, isn’t it? And that’s just what these groups will be! Public relations! Anny is going to be a big part of this, Harold. And Anny, do sit down. You’re not on parade!”

 

Anny looked awkwardly between the general and his wife and then slowly sank into her chair. The general was still frowning. “I… see,” he growled. “So when’s dinner?”

 

“Oh in a bit, in a bit. Why don’t you go have a drink in your study in the meantime?”

 

The general grumbled something Anny couldn’t catch and left the room.

 

“Don’t mind Harold,” said Lady Vorsilva. “Now where were we?”

 

“Talking about letting the natural leaders run the groups,” said Sara. “And you know, Penny, I think we should also include some of the townswomen. Lady Vorkosigan suggested it might help in the civil-military relations.”

 

“Oh? Well, I suppose we could…”

 

An hour later, at General Vorsilva’s direct order to the house cook, dinner was served. Anny tried to escape, but Lady Penelope insisted that she stay. Anny felt very self-conscious and the General glared at her most of the time, but his wife kept chattering away, oblivious, it seemed.

 

By the time Anny and Sara Fetherbay finally left the Vorsilva house it was fully dark; the summer was past and night was coming earlier and earlier. They walked towards Fetherbay’s residence along the quiet pathways. “So what do you think?” asked Sara.

 

“I think it’s a good start. Except that I’m not sure that Lady Penelope understands that this is… isn’t…”

 

“Isn’t some sort of ladies’ tea and quilting society?” Sara laughed.

 

“Well, yes.” The more contact Anny had with Lady Penelope the more she reminded her of Lady Vorgallan, a Vor matriarch who had nearly driven Anny to distraction in her senior year at the Academy.

 

“She might not ever really understand, Anny. But the important thing is that she’s backing this. We can get the groups set up and do some real good and if Penny thinks it’s all for something different, it won’t matter.”

 

“But _you_ understand.” Anny looked at Sara.

 

“Yes, yes I do. I’m not Vor and while I’m not from one of those desperately poor areas like you are, I’m still a lot closer to your background than Penny’s. I know the challenges that our women face. And I’m thrilled that we’re going to try and help them—as embarrassing as it is.”

 

“Embarrassing?”

 

“Embarrassing personally.” Sara looked away for a moment. “I’m the Colonel’s wife, Anny. I should have been the one to think of this. Frankly, I’m ashamed that it took you and Lady Vorkosigan to see what’s been staring me in the face for years.”

 

“It’s been staring everyone in the face for centuries, Sara. I saw the problem—because I had my nose rubbed in it—but I didn’t see the answer either. Change is never easy.” Anny was startled with where the conversation as going.

 

“Then I guess we both owe a debt to Lady Vorkosigan.”

 

“From what I’ve seen, the whole Empire owes a lot to the Vorkosigans.”

 

“Yes. They’ve been the agents of change for a long time now. But I guess it’s time for the rest of us to get to work, too, eh?”

 

“I guess so. Can we meet again tomorrow? Uh… maybe just the two of us? To set up some schedules?”

 

“I think that would be good.” They reached Sara’s house and parted. Anny headed for her own quarters and was feeling good about what had been accomplished. She was actually doing something proactive, not just waiting to deal with each problem as they cropped up. In her tactics classes at the Academy she’d always preferred offense to defense.

 

And so over the next days and weeks she worked to set up the women’s groups. With Lady Vorsilva’s backing they got access to facilities on the base and in town that could be used for larger meetings. Once things got going smaller meetings were held in homes. Ekaterin provided copies of videos she’d acquired or had made for her groups in the district and Anny even drafted Alby into helping out with computer presentations and finding even more material from galactic sources.

 

Initially attendance was low, but it grew rapidly as the word spread. When Ekaterin showed up for a few meetings they could scarcely fit everyone in to the meeting places. She followed Ekaterin’s plan of starting out with presentations on useful household subjects and slowly introducing more serious things. And it wasn’t just instructional meetings. After she’d gotten to know some of the women and explained that many of the physical repairs or improvements that people wanted just were not in the budget, they formed volunteer groups to do the repairs and improvements themselves. This, inevitably, dragged husbands and boyfriends into the activities as well. At first there was some resistance and resentment on their part, but as time went by and everyone could see the benefits, that passed. She got a few snide remarks from some of the officers and she picked up the nickname ‘Anny Homemaker’ but she could put up with that.

 

The trickiest part was slipping in the counseling for the more serious matters. Anny had made a list of all the women who had domestic violence reports submitted about them and anxiously looked to see if any of them joined the groups. In the beginning there were none and she wondered if her hopes had been unrealistic. But after the volunteer repair groups got organized, she saw a few of the women on the list start to attend. She had to force herself to not treat them any differently than the others and possibly scare them off.

 

“I’m not sure how to broach the subject,” she said to Sara Fetherbay one day. “I mean I can hardly walk up to them and say: By the way, does your husband still beat you?”

 

Sara smiled grimly and shook her head. “No, I don’t think that would be a good idea. We have to go slowly, try to build up some trust and then… see what we can do.”

 

The days passed. Anny fell into a routine and even General Vorsilva seemed satisfied with what she was doing—although she wasn’t sure how much the general’s wife had to do with that. She continued to work out and practice her fencing and attend dress parade. Every now and then she’d drop in on her old platoon to see how they were doing. It was painful, but at least they seemed to be glad to see her.

 

The autumn was half gone when one day she got a message on her comconsole. She read it and swore.

 

“Damn…”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Anny! What’s wrong?” Jer jumped to his feet as Anny came through his door. Her face was pale and her expression…

 

“Rough day,” she said, shaking her head.

 

“What happened? I thought things were going better, that those groups you’re setting up were working out pretty good!”

 

“Oh, yeah, they are,” she said, slumping down on his bed. “Something else came up today.”

 

“What?”

 

“There was a man in 3rd Battalion killed with the fleet.”

 

“Oh, that’s right! We just heard about it this afternoon! A freak accident they said. A damn shame with them on their way home and all. But what…? Oh hell!”

 

“Yeah, with all of the battalion’s officers off-planet, guess who got to inform the wife and kids?”

 

“Oh, Anny!” He sat next to her and took her hand. “How bad was it?”

 

“Pretty bad.” She sniffled and Jer could see tears welling in her eyes. “I never… when we lost all those men on Dounby, we were still three months from home and the news got here months ahead of us and we never went back to Fort Vormeyer anyway and I never had to… oh damn!” The tears were spilling out now and she angrily wiped them away. “Fine officer I am!”

 

“Nothing to be ashamed of,” said Jer, putting an arm around her and pulling her close. He was quite certain she hadn’t let anything show up until now. Holding it in… “How many… how many kids?”

 

“Three. One was just a toddler but the other two were old enough to understand. The woman… damn… the woman was someone I’d met at one of the groups! When she saw me at her door she thought it was something to do with that. She never suspected until I… Oh, Jer, it was like someone had punctured a balloon and all the air leaked out!”

 

“You had to do it alone?”

 

“Sergeant Elridge drove over with me, but I told him to wait in the car. The woman went almost catatonic and the kids started crying. I didn’t… I didn’t know what the hell to do. I stayed with them a half hour or so. It felt like hours. Then some of her neighbors came over—got the news or heard the crying I don’t know which—and I left her with them.” More tears were on her cheeks. “I guess… I guess I’m gonna have to add ‘grief counseling’ to what the groups do now, huh?”

 

Jer squeezed her but didn’t know what to say. Other militaries had chaplains to help with things like this. But Barrayar’s almost religionless society did not have things like that. “So… so how’d you get assigned the job?”

 

“An order came down from Brigade. The chief of staff had signed it. Don’t know whose idea it was to give it to me.”

 

“Brigade? Not regiment? I mean he was a 61st man. I would have thought…”

 

“Yeah, me, too. At the time I was too flustered to think about it. When I got back there was a message from Fetherbay _asking_ if I would be willing to go along when he went to see the widow. He sounded seriously pissed when I commed to tell him I’d already been ordered to see her.”

 

“I can imagine.” Why _had_ Vorsilva bypassed the normal chain of command? If it had been him. Maybe someone on his staff had just made a mistake. Or maybe they deliberately wanted to give Anny this hard duty… or… too many unknowns.

 

“I don’t think I like this job,” said Anny in a near-whisper. He could feel her shuddering.

 

“Anny…”

 

“Just hold me.”

 

He held her.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Lieutenant? Got a minute?”

 

Anny looked up from her desk and saw Corporal Kane standing there. She glanced back at her comconsoles and decided that the report she was working on could wait for a few minutes. “Sure,” she said. “What’s up?”

 

“I had an idea and I wanted to show you something.”

 

“What?”

 

“Be easier to show you, sir. It’s over in the store room building behind the HQ. Better take your coat, sir; getting damn chilly outside.”

 

Mystified, but glad for any excuse to get out of her office for a while, Anny grabbed her greatcoat and followed Kane out the back door of the building. He had been right: there was a cutting breeze slicing through the valley. Autumn was just about over and they’d had a snow flurry the other day. Winter was coming. And time was passing. 3rd Battalion had returned from their assignment with the fleet a few weeks ago. There had been celebrations and happy reunions—and one solemn memorial service. She’d been the head of Public Relations for over four months now. She could scarcely believe it.

 

They reached the storage building and Kane produced a key to unlock the door. Anny wasn’t sure Kane was supposed to have a key, but she’d quickly come to realize that Kane was the… resourceful one in her office. He let them inside and flipped on the light and led her down a corridor to another door which he also unlocked. “I had noticed this thing a few years ago when we were doing an inventory,” he said. “Not sure why they didn’t throw it all out, but I had a thought that maybe we could use it now.” He turned on the light in the room and stood aside so Anny could take a look. There were boxes piled to the ceiling that she recognized as containers for blank flimsies, but in the center of the room was…

 

“What is it?”

 

“It’s a printer, sir. An old industrial model. I did some checking and it turns out that the 61st used to publish a regimental newspaper years ago. I was thinking that maybe we could start it back up.”

 

“A _newspaper_ , Corporal? Isn’t that kind of… out of date? I mean don’t most people get all their news off the ‘net or the news vids?”

 

Kane shrugged. “For planetary news, sure, although I know there are some older townsfolk who don’t use the new-fangled stuff. But I was thinking more for local news, sir. Stories about what’s going on in the fort and in the town.”

 

“Oh, I see,” said Anny. “But isn’t there an electronic newsletter…?”

 

“That’s just for official announcements and stuff, sir. I was thinking this would be more human interest stories and public service articles—kind of like what your women’s groups are doing, but this would be for everyone.”

 

“They’re not _my_ women’s groups, Corporal,” said Anny. She eyed him and smiled. “Do I have a frustrated journalist in my department?”

 

He smiled back. “Maybe. But I’d like to give this a try if you’d give permission, sir. I think I can get this thing running and it wouldn’t really cost anything. And, well, we’re running out of things to do, sir.”

 

Anny sucked on her cheek. Kane was right; the S-9 department was running out of _official_ work to do. The women’s groups were largely to thank for that. Not only were they handling a lot of the issues they had once submitted complaints about, but thanks to the networking that had developed, they now knew just how to apply pressure to get the things fixed that they couldn’t fix themselves. Need a broken sink replaced? Well, Mrs. Zambino’s husband works in the base plumbing shop—go talk to her! Things were getting done and the complaints landing in the S-9 office had fallen dramatically.

 

Of course this hadn’t affected Anny’s workload much since she was spending more and more time with the groups, but the three men in her office were finding themselves at loose ends. “So who would do the writing? I hope you don’t expect _me_ to!”

 

Kane chuckled. “I figured I’d do some and maybe you could ask some of the ladies to contribute stuff. And if you did find the time to write anything, I’m sure I could find room to fit it in. It would probably only be a page or two to start.”

 

“And how would you distribute it?”

 

“Well, since it would be free, we could just leave stacks of them here and there. In the mess halls here on the base. In town we could put them in stores or in the housing units.”

 

“You seem to have it all figured out, Corporal.”

 

“I’m trying, sir. Does that mean it’s okay?”

 

Anny shrugged and smiled. “Why not? Good luck.”

 

“Thanks, sir!”

 

And so the _Fort Vorolson Gazette_ was born. At first it was just a page or two with not much more than was to be found in the electronic newsletter. But Kane had a talent for writing and for finding good stories and before long the Gazette had quite a circulation. So much so that local businesses started wanting to place advertisements in it. Somehow Anny managed to get permission for that to happen, with the advertising fees being funneled back into the paper for supplies.

 

Kane quickly had a number of contributors and Anny even wrote a few articles. But her biggest contribution was when she got Ekaterin to write a piece for the paper. And it really seemed to be having an effect. There was a new solidarity in the military families and once Kane found some townspeople who were willing to contribute, the people of Malverton became teammates rather than competitors. It was actually making a difference. Anny still wanted to get back to her platoon, but she couldn’t help but feel good about what she’d managed to accomplish in Public Relations.

 

The dark gloom of the summer was being replaced with a more hopeful winter. Jer was doing well with his platoon and even Alby was perkier. Apparently he’d managed to break the log-jam that had been holding up the simulator facility and he told them that it ought to be up and running by the spring. And they got a message from Patric Mederov that the family crisis that had pulled him away from them had been resolved and he had put in a request to be transferred to the 61st. She really hoped he could manage that. They all missed the big farm boy. She still occasionally got nasty remarks from Vorkerkas and his crowd at fencing practice and during the tryouts for an upcoming tournament she’d been forced to compete against him, but with official judges in attendance he’d behaved himself and beaten her without any shenanigans. He was still a lot better than her with the sabre, but she was catching up fast.

 

Overall she was feeling much better than she had in months. The only problem she hadn’t been able to solve as well as she’d have liked was that of domestic violence. There were still battered women in the brigade and there didn’t seem to be any easy solution.

 

“We’ve helped stop quite a few of the cases,” said Sara Fetherbay one day when Anny brought up the subject. “We’ve gotten the women and their men into counseling and it seems to be working.”

 

“Some, but not all. And there are probably still more cases we never hear about.”

 

“I had a thought the other day, Lieutenant,” said Fetherbay’s daughter, Shelly, who often sat in on their planning meetings. “I’ve heard that you are really good at close combat. Maybe we could have some training classes, teach the women how to defend themselves.”

 

A chill went through Anny. She’d had the thought herself, but after really thinking about it, she’d hoped no one else would ever bring it up. She glanced at Sara Fetherbay and the woman also seemed troubled by the suggestion. “Shelly,” said Fetherbay, “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea…”

 

“But why not? If the women could protect themselves then their men might not beat them up!”

 

“But we’d be deliberately setting husbands and wives against each other, dear. Not a good thing.”

 

“And most of the men here are well-trained in close combat themselves, Shelly”, added Anny. “The bullies might take it as a challenge rather than a deterrent. It could get out of hand. We want to stop the violence, not create more.” The young woman looked disappointed, hurt even, so Anny added. “Still, it’s worth taking a closer look at. Maybe something for younger, unmarried women… We’ll think on it, okay?”

 

Shelly didn’t look convinced but she didn’t argue, which relieved Anny greatly. The idea of training women so they could fight off their abusers was extremely satisfying on one level, but the thought of it turning into some sort of death-match had cured Anny of the notion very quickly. And in any case, the moment that word got out of Anny training women to fight their husbands, her groups could fall apart in an eye-blink. There had to be a better answer.

 

They had just turned back to other matters when Anny heard the door open and the steady footfalls of Colonel Fetherbay. “Oh, Anthony is home early,” said Sara. The 61st’s commanding officer came to the door of the dining room where they were working and halted. The look on his face was unlike anything she’d ever seen on him. Worry mixed with… what? He stopped dead when he saw her there.

 

“Da, what’s wrong?” asked Shelly.

 

“What’s happened, Dear?” asked Sara, almost simultaneously.

 

Fetherbay looked at Anny and hesitated.

 

“I can leave, sir, if you’d like” she offered.

 

“No, no… you’d hear about it soon enough, Lieutenant.”

 

“Hear about what, dear?” asked Sara.

 

Fetherbay took a deep breath and swallowed.

 

“The regiment is shipping out.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“As you’ve all heard by now, the 61st will be leaving Barrayar in less than a month,” said General Vorsilva to his staff. Anny sat in the back, as always.

 

“Just the 61st, sir?” asked Major Danilov, the Operations Officer. “What about the rest of the brigade, sir?”

 

“We stay.” The anger in Vorsilva’s voice was plain. “All the forces for this venture are being ‘hand picked’, or so I’m told. Overall commander, division commander, brigade commanders, the regiments, the support troops, only the people with the _best_ connections are being considered! And I’ve already been told that we aren’t in the running, so don’t hold your breath!” Vorsilva snorted in disgust.

 

“But with the 61st gone and the 139th in reserve again, that… that doesn’t leave much of a brigade, sir.”

 

“Tell me about it, Geoffrey! But we might—might!—get some other regiment orphaned by this operation assigned to the brigade to replace the 61st. If not… well, if not, the brigade might be disbanded.”

 

“Disbanded?” gasped Captain Petrov.

 

“Yes, disbanded! So update your resumes, gentlemen! In a few months we might all be looking for new assignments.” A gloomy silence ensued that eventually Vorsilva broke. “But in the meantime we still have work to do. We must continue winterizing all the facilities and unfortunately, we can’t count on the 61st to contribute any manpower. In fact, we’ll have to winterize their barracks for them as they’ll have no time. Obviously the cold-weather exercise scheduled for after Winterfair is cancelled. And in addition…”

 

The meeting was shorter than usual and there were very few questions. Vorsilva didn’t ask for the usual department reports, so Anny said nothing. As the meeting broke up, she steeled herself to approach the general.

 

“Excuse me sir,” she forced herself to say. “Do you have a moment?”

 

The same sour expression he’d had throughout the meeting was still on his face. “Only a moment. What is it, Lieutenant?”

 

“Uh, sir, I request permission to rejoin my regiment, sir.”

 

“Yes, I bet you do! Well, forget it!”

 

“But, sir, Public Relations is working smoothly! It’s practically running on its own! It doesn’t need me to…”

 

“Oh yes, I’m aware of what an _outstanding_ job you’ve been doing, Lieutenant. Clearly this is a job you were just made for. In fact, I’ve sent a suggestion to headquarters that you should be put in charge of a program setting up similar systems in forts all over Barrayar. Hell, you might get a captaincy out of that, Payne. Does that appeal to you?”

 

“I… I’d prefer to be with my regiment, sir.” Anny stared at him in horror.

 

“Request denied. Go unpack your bags, girl. You’re not going anywhere!”

 

 

**Chapter 11**

 

 **“F** etherbay can’t do anything?” asked Jer in dismay. He looked at Anny, sitting in the chair by his desk. She shook her head glumly.

 

“He said he tried, but Vorsilva is adamant.”

 

“But _why_? How can he keep a proven combat officer in a staff job that anyone—well, almost anyone—can do?” The word that the regiment was going to be moving out—for possible combat duty—had spread through the base like wildfire. Jer had been excited and he’d been certain that Anny would be coming with them. But now…

 

Anny shrugged. “Why’d he put me in Public Relations to begin with?”

 

Before Jer could reply, his door banged open and Alby burst in with Sven Estaban close behind. “Have you heard?” shouted Alby breathlessly. “We’re shipping out!”

 

“Yeah, we’ve heard,” said Jer.

 

“’We’?” said Anny. “Does that mean…?”

 

“Sure does! No more simulator nightmare for me! I’ll be on Fetherbay’s staff! And have you heard? Fetherbay’s being promoted to full colonel and is the official commander now!”

 

“What happened to Vortaglia?” asked Anny.

 

“They promoted him to general and he agreed to retire. Guess he didn’t want to leave his beach house and go to Nova Paveo. Where the hell is that, anyway?”

 

“Back of Beyond, about a zillion jumps past Asland,” said Estaban. “A hell of a trip.”

 

“And Patric’s coming with us!” exulted Alby. “Just got a message from him and his transfer’s been approved! He should be here in a few days.”

 

“That’s great,” said Jer. He glanced toward Anny and she smiled thinly.

 

“Say, what’s the matter with you two?” asked Alby, mystified at his friends’ lack of enthusiasm. “Oh cripes, don’t tell me…!”

 

“Anny’s not coming with us,” said Jer quietly.

 

Alby swore an oath that actually made Jer blush. “I don’t believe this!”

 

“S’true,” said Anny. “I get to make sure everything’s fine on the home front so our boys won’t be worried while they’re away.” A note of bitterness crept into Anny’s voice.

 

“There’s gotta be something we can do! Anny, why don’t you call Lord Vorkosigan? I bet _he_ can fix it!”

 

“I would think so!” said Estaban.

 

Anny shook her head. “I can’t ask him for _another_ favor, Alby. He just fixed things up for my family!”

 

“Why the hell not? Isn’t that what friends are for?”

 

“Say, speaking of friends,” said Jer, “is there anything your father can do?” Alby’s father had been a very influential general before he retired. He’d pulled strings for them several times in the past. But Alby’s face fell and he looked embarrassed.

 

“I… don’t know. My father’s been fading fast since retirement. His mind’s going. The last time I talked with him, he couldn’t seem to remember where I was or what I was doing. When I mentioned Anny, he thought I was talking about Abigail. And… and, he kept calling me ‘Carl’.” Jer sucked in his breath. Carl was Alby’s brother—and dead these twenty years. “I mean I can try—I will try—but I don’t know if he can do anything now.”

 

“If he could do anything, I’d be grateful,” said Anny. “But it looks like I’ll be staying.”

 

“That is so unfair,” said Estaban.

 

“Welcome to Barrayar,” said all three of them in unison. That actually brought a smile to Anny’s face.

 

“I’m gonna miss you guys.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Patric!” exclaimed Alby Vorsworth. A crowd of people was emerging from the shuttle, but there was no missing the huge shape of Patric Mederov. At two-meters in height he towered over most of the others. Patric grinned broadly as he saw Alby. The two shook hands and Patric gave him a slap on the shoulder than nearly sent him sprawling.

 

“Ow! Pick on someone your own size!”

 

Patric looked around and then shrugged. “Sorry, I can’t, so you’ll have to do. How are you, Alby?”

 

“Not bad. Damn it’s good to see you, big guy! Everything okay at home?”

 

“Good! Good! The retro-virus seems to be doing the job on my da. The doctors had never seen a mutation quite like that before and it took them forever to devise a fix. Damn good thing he was able to draw on my service health benefits, too; we never would have been able to afford it otherwise.” Patric hefted his duffle bag and Alby grabbed his smaller travel bag. He’d forgotten just how much he liked his old friend.

 

“I assumed they scanned all the rest of your family for the same mutation?”

 

“Yup. We’re all clean. No clue where this came from. Da may get a write-up in a medical journal. But wow, look at this place! They’re really in high gear, aren’t they?” The landing fields were crowded with shuttles big and small. Equipment being loaded and off-loaded, people scrambling around, it was busy indeed. Fortunately, the weather had moderated from the past few days. Huge mounds of snow had been pushed to the edges of the field after the first big storm of the season.

 

“Yeah, 1st and 2nd battalions are all getting the new battle armor, 3rd Battalion already has them, of course, and nearly all the other equipment is being replaced, too. When we ship out, we are all going to be incredibly bright and shiny.”

 

“Still set for two weeks from now?”

 

“No, they pushed it back ten days so we can spend Winterfair at home. Nice of ‘em.”

 

“Huh. Well, good, it will give me more time to settle in.” They dumped Patric’s gear in the back of the utility vehicle Alby had brought. They piled into the front and moved out.

 

“Got your assignment yet or do you need to go to HQ?”

 

“Well, I ought to check in there, but my assignment came with my transfer orders: C Company, third platoon.”

 

“Damn…” hissed Alby.

 

“What?”

 

“That was Anny’s platoon.”

 

“What? Oh shit! She still hasn’t figured a way to come along?”

 

Alby had written to Patric telling him about the screw-up. “No. She’s tried just about every official channel she can think of. And she refuses to ask Lord Vorkosigan.”

 

“Your father couldn’t help?”

 

Alby sighed. “I asked him, but at first he didn’t even understand what I wanted and then he started trying to call people who are either retired or dead. I don’t think he’s gonna be able to help.”

 

“Damn, that’s scary. I hope I never get like that. Can’t the doctors do anything?”

 

“They’re looking into it. But even if they do come up with something, it won’t be soon enough to help Anny.” He frowned and tapped his fingers on the steering wheel.

 

“Alby… I know that look on your face. You aren’t thinking of… _trying_ something? Are you?”

 

“I’ve looked into it,” he replied, steering their vehicle around a small convoy of trucks that weren’t moving. “But I can’t see how I could pull it off.”

 

“Giant pink bunnies won’t work this time?” Patric was referring to a prank Alby had pulled at the Academy.

 

“No,” he said in frustration. “Nor blue or green bunnies, either. Too damn many layers of security to start hacking through to issue fake orders. And if I got caught Anny could get caught up in the mess, too. No, my hacking skills aren’t going to be of any use this time. But dammit, I’m not gonna let her be left behind!”

 

“Well, if Anny won’t ask Lord Vorkosigan, maybe we should try.”

 

“Yeah, maybe. We sure have to try something!”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Hey, Lieutenant, got a minute?”

 

Anny saw that Corporal Kane was standing in front of her desk. She’d been drawing little doodles of suits of battle armor on a note pad… “Sure, what’s up?”

 

“It’s about the _Gazette_ , sir. I was thinking that with the 61st leaving, but as far as I’ve heard, all the families staying behind, we really ought to think about sending a reporter along with the men.”

 

“A reporter?”

 

“Sure! You know, someone to send stories back here. Let the folks know what their boys are up to and all.”

 

“I imagine that most of the news organizations will be sending their own people along to cover this. It’s big news at the moment, y’know.” And indeed it was. The _Barrayaran Expeditionary Force_ was the biggest thing since Princess Kareen’s birth. An unlikely alliance of many of the great powers was sending a peacekeeping force to the distant world of Nova Paveo to help quell a bloody war that had broken out there. Three other regiments, beside the 61 st were being sent plus a large contingent of support units. The news organizations were very interested.

 

“Yeah, but they’ll be focusing on the big picture. Doubt they’ll give much coverage to our people. The families back here would probably appreciate hearing things of more local interest. We need someone with close ties to the regiment.”

 

In spite of the gloom that had been wrapping her for days, Anny smiled. “Did you have someone in mind, Corporal?”

 

“Oh, not me, sir!” cried Kane. “Hell, I’m not even from the 61st! I used to be with the engineers until I decided that was way too much physical labor. Anyway, I’m the editor, I hafta stay here. But both Sergeant Elridge and Ed Malakov were making noises like they’d be interested.”

 

“Really?” asked Anny in surprise. “I didn’t think either of them would be…”

 

“Well, neither of them wanted to actually put in for it until we knew if it would even be allowed. Think you could get permission from the general, sir?”

 

“I… I’m not even sure he’d be the one to ask. He’s not going on the expedition.”

 

“But he’s in charge of _us_. I was thinking we’d need his permission to send someone, but we might need other permissions to join the expedition, like you said. But one step at a time.”

 

Kane seemed very earnest, but at the same time Anny suspected that he was Up To Something. Still she couldn’t see any harm in it. “All right. I’ll call his office and see what they say.” She turned to her comconsoles and selected the code for Captain Vordranov, Vorsilva’s chief of staff. After a moment the screen lit up and Vordranov scowled out at her.

 

“Yeah?” he said. Courtesy in the brigade staff had fallen off lately, she’d noticed.

 

“Captain, my corporal here has approached me with the idea of sending one of the people from my department along with the 61st as a news correspondent. They could send back stories about the troops for the families left behind. As you know, our work load here has dropped significantly recently and I could spare a man if the General agrees.”

 

Vordranov snorted and looked skeptical, but he said: “I’ll pass your request along to the General.”

 

“Thank you, sir. Uh, considering the timeframe, a quick answer would be appreciated.”

 

Vordranov’s scowl grew deeper. “I said I’d pass it along,” he growled and cut the connection.

 

“Okay,” said Anny looking at Kane. “We’ll see what happens.”

 

“Thanks, sir!” Kane went away looking happy.

 

Anny sighed and went back to her doodling. Left behind. She was going to be left behind. Jer and Alby and Patric were heading off—off to a combat zone—and she was being left behind. She might not see Jer again for two years or even longer. She might never have reason to put on a suit of battle armor again… With a snort of exasperation she scribbled over her doodles, wadded up the flimsy, and hurled it into the trash. _Damn!_

 

She stared at her comconsole. All she had to do was type in Lord Auditor Vorkosigan’s code. He could fix this. He _would_ fix this. He thought he owed her some debt, so he would do it for her. He spoke with the Emperor’s Voice and even Vorsilva wouldn’t dare tell him no. One little call and she’d be back with her platoon, her regiment… her man. The Vor used this sort of influence all the time, why shouldn’t she? Ekaterin had said that he would move worlds for the people special to him. She didn’t need a world moved—just a general. Her hand moved toward the keyboard and them she drew it back. Damn. _Enough people have moved worlds for you already, girl. This is your problem._

 

Of course she _had_ used influence in the past. She never would have made it into the Academy in the first place without help—a lot of help—from Countess Cordelia Vorkosigan. And she’d gotten all that help preparing for the Academy from Kou and Drou Koudelka. And she’d always suspected that there was a guardian angel or two watching over her once she finally got to the Academy. But she’d never actually asked for any special treatment. Alby had used his father’s influence to pull some strings now and then to get her and him and Jer and Patric all assigned to the same duty, but that was different. She’d been proud that she’d only used influence to even things out, never to tilt them in her favor. She’d made it this far by dint of her own blood, sweat, and tears, she didn’t want to change that.

 

But she was going to be _left behind…_

 

She was still sitting there, frozen, when a ping from the comconsole reminded her that she needed to get moving. She pushed herself up from her chair, put on her greatcoat and headed back to her quarters. She changed into her dress greens even though the greatcoat would cover it up again. She had to let out her sword belt two notches to fit over the bulky garment. As she did so, she realized that she’d skipped dress parade for the last three weeks…or was it four? She was getting lax.

 

But today’s parade was different and she wanted to be there.

 

She went down the steps and out the door. Some low, scudding clouds were dropping a few flakes of snow as they hurried past and Anny turned up the collar of her coat to try and keep out the chill breeze. It was nearly Winterfair. The companies of the regiment—all three battalions—were heading for the parade ground and she followed along.

 

The band was already there, playing martial tunes, and a sizable crowd of spectators was lining the edges of the field despite the cold weather. The companies took their positions along the edge of the field and Anny walked over to her usual post with the staff. Alby was there and they nodded to each other. The battalion adjutants were placing themselves with their colors and the regimental color guard moved to its spot. Only the colonel was missing.

 

The colonels.

 

She looked over her shoulder as a large staff ground car slid to a halt. Several men jumped out and opened the rear doors. There was a bit of a delay and then one of the men leaned into the car and then slowly helped another figure emerge.

 

_Colonel Vortaglia._

The only pictures Anny had ever seen of the 61st’s commander had been taken decades earlier so it was a small shock to see the ancient relic hobbling toward her. He was using a cane and leaning on the arm of a captain who seemed strangely familiar, although she couldn’t place him. Fetherbay emerged behind Vortaglia and walked slowly, matching the pace and a step to the side.

 

Vortaglia passed by her a dozen paces away and she stared at his wizened, but well-tanned face. He looked even older than Alby’s father, although she knew he was a few years younger. His greatcoat seemed about three sizes too large for him. The captain guided him to the proper spot and then after a moment’s hesitation—seemingly to make sure the old man wouldn’t topple over—he stepped away and came over to join the rest of the staff. Fetherbay glanced around to see that everything was ready and then nodded toward his adjutant and took his spot a few paces to Vortaglia’s right and a step behind.

 

“Attention—Battalions!” shouted Captain Vorjanis and the dress parade began. It went just like every other dress parade except that when it came time for Vortaglia to run the regiment through the manual of arms there was an embarrassing delay when the un-named captain had to walk over to Vortaglia and remind him to turn on the tiny microphone clipped to his coat. The old man’s voice barely carried to Anny and none of the men could hear him at all. Even with the loudspeakers working the Colonel’s scratchy voice was hardly intelligible, but they made it through somehow.

 

As the captain returned to his spot he glanced at Anny and she suddenly realized where she’d met him before. _Captain Vortaglia!_ He had been the adjutant of the 42 nd Infantry when she’d been with them for her apprentice cruise in her senior year. Was he the Colonel’s son? Grandson? Nephew? His face was set like stone and he didn’t look at her again.

 

The dress parade reached the point where it would normally finish up and the officers would come forward to meet with the colonel, but today things were different. This wasn’t just dress parade, it was the Change of Command. Vortaglia was officially turning the regiment—his regiment—over to Fetherbay.

 

The adjutant called everyone to attention and then extracted a flimsy from his coat which he read from. It was a standard set of orders from headquarters placing Fetherbay in command of the 61st Regiment of Imperial Infantry. He finished quickly and then stepped aside, nodding to Vortaglia.

 

This time the old man remembered to turn on his microphone. He coughed and then said: “Well, as the saying goes: all good things come to an end.” His voice was a little stronger than it had been earlier. “And one of the best things in my life has been the honor of commanding the 61st. When I was first assigned here as a wet-behind-the-ears ensign I never imagined that…” Vortaglia went on for quite a while, recounting his career and his experiences. It was all fairly coherent, although he did repeat himself a few times. But the sun was going behind the ridge and Anny was slowly freezing solid in the wind. The men in the ranks were probably getting edgy.

 

But then Vortaglia said: “And now the 61st is moving out to a new adventure, new worlds, new challenges. Alas, these old legs and old arms will not allow me to lead you anymore. But the regiment is more than any one man. Faces and names may change but the regiment goes on! Colonel Fetherbay is a fine officer and I know he will lead you well. So, my comrades, I bid you farewell. May Fortune bless your arms and when you meet the foe, remember: _Give Them the Cold Steel!”_

 

Any question Anny may have had about whether the men were still paying attention to Vortaglia’s words was answered by twenty-five hundred voices roaring a shout that echoed across the parade ground.

 

The silence that followed lingered for several long moments. Then Captain Vorjanis called the regiment to attention and ordered the sergeant carrying the regimental colors to come forward. The man marched straight up to Colonel Vortaglia and set the butt of the staff of the colors on the ground right in front of him. The old man reached out and grasped them. The sergeant let go, stepped back and saluted and then moved aside. Vortaglia looked the colors up and down and brushed his hand against the silk and fingered some of the battle ribbons dangling from the finial.

 

After a few seconds, Colonel Fetherbay walked forward a dozen paces and then turned to come back to stand in front of Vortaglia. He saluted crisply and said: “Sir, per the orders, I relieve you.” They stared at each for a dozen heartbeats and then Vortaglia slowly raised the colors and passed them to Fetherbay.

 

“Sir, I stand relieved. The regiment is yours,” replied Vortaglia. He saluted and they shook hands. The only other sound was the sighing wind.

 

Fetherbay called the sergeant forward and gave the colors back to him and the man returned to his place in the color guard. At a signal from the adjutant, Anny and all the other commissioned and non-commissioned staff moved to take their posts behind Fetherbay, facing Vortaglia.

 

“Battalions!” shouted Fetherbay. “Shoulder-Arms!” Anny drew her sword and rested the blade against her right shoulder.

 

“Present-Arms!” The regiment saluted their former commander and held the salute for a long time. Vortaglia slowly returned it and nodded.

 

“Shoulder-Arms! The 61st Regiment of Imperial Infantry will pass in review!”

 

Fetherbay moved toward the right of his regiment and the staff followed. A few other of the men rearranged themselves. The younger Vortaglia escorted the elder a hundred meters or so toward one edge of the field. When all was ready, Fetherbay commanded: “By company, right wheel into column—March!” The band started playing and all twelve companies simultaneously swung to the right and they were off.

 

By an ancient tradition, the regiment’s sapper platoon lead the way, followed by Fetherbay and the staff, then the band, then the rest of the regiment. They marched a few hundred meters and then wheeled left, went another hundred meters or so and then wheeled left again. This brought them directly past where Colonel Vortaglia was standing.

 

Anny had marched in reviews once a week for four years at the Academy, but she’d never been with the regimental staff during one before. Once they had saluted Vortaglia they didn’t just march on by. Instead Fetherbay led them around to the right until they were standing next to Vortaglia. Meanwhile the band was circling around to the left until it was facing them. The rest of the regiment would pass in between.

 

As the 1st Battalion came abreast, the band struck up the 61st’s marching song and the men belted out the words.

 

_“The Colonel said: Give them your steel!_

_And we crushed the foes beneath our heel;_

_We’ll crush our foes both near and far;_

_For the Emperor! For Barrayar!_

 

Anny glanced to her left and could see tears on Vortaglia’s cheeks. She was blinking furiously and vainly to keep them off her own.

 

When the last company passed by, Fetherbay led them out and followed along with the band bringing up the rear. Two more left wheels brought them back to where they’d started from. The regiment wheeled into line, opened ranks, and presented arms again and they were done. The Colonel dismissed the regiment and the battalion commanders dismissed their battalions. The officers started to drift away as the sergeants marched the companies off to their dinners. Alby gave her a wave but Anny was staring at the two small figures on the far side of the field. The staff car coasted up and the men slowly got inside. She looked back to where the regiment was being swallowed up in the gathering dark…

 

… leaving Anny behind.

 

 

**Chapter 12**

 

 **“T** hank you, Lieutenant, I’ll be sure to look into it. Good-bye.”

 

Miles Vorkosigan cut the connection on his comconsoles and grinned. Alby Vorsworth had just called him in a near-panic that Anny Payne wasn’t scheduled to go along with her regiment when it shipped out to Nova Paveo in a few days. His grin quickly faded. He was perfectly aware of the situation, of course. He and Gregor had pulled the strings which got the 61st Infantry included in the expedition in the first place precisely to get Anny off Barrayar for a while. He wasn’t about to allow her to be left behind now!

 

But the _reason_ they wanted her far away wiped the last of the grin from his face completely. He picked up a report from ImpSec that was lying on his desk. It detailed the recent activities of a former inmate of a Barrayaran military prison who had been released two months before. Yosef Vorritter had been a lieutenant in the navy until he’d made the serious mistake of trying to rape Anny Payne during a training cruise in her junior year at the Academy. Alby and her other friends had intervened and Vorritter had been court-martialed, cashiered, and sent to prison. But he was free now and Miles was afraid he was out for revenge on the person who he might well think had ruined his life.

 

Vorritter had made some threatening statements while still in prison although nothing specific enough to keep him there. At Miles’ request—insistence really—ImpSec was keeping an eye on the man since he was released. He had contacted two of his accomplices in the attempted rape—although those men had merely been kicked out of the military but not imprisoned—and done a few other things that could be labeled suspicious, but nothing that was sufficient to chuck him back into prison. It was a damn shame that he couldn’t just order a fast-penta interrogation to find out what Vorritter might be up to. Well, he could _order_ it, but fast-penta testimony on desires and intentions weren’t admissible evidence in criminal cases so it wouldn’t do much good. Miles had been holding off on addressing Anny’s deployment situation in hopes that Vorritter might make some mistake in the meantime that was admissible, but now time was running out and he’d have to act.

 

So, how to get Anny back with her regiment? He could just issue an order, of course. Or he could talk to any one of a number of different admirals or generals in the military and get them to issue an order. Or he could get Gregor to issue an order. What would be best? These things needed to be handled _delicately_ …

 

 

* * *

 

 

“So what did he say?” asked Patric Mederov.

 

Alby sighed in exasperation. “He said that he would look into it!”

 

“When? We’ve only got three days left!”

 

“I know, I know!” He got up and turned away from the comconsoles and paced back and forth in his small room. “There’s got to be something we can do!”

 

“Well, we could always stuff her in a duffle bag and smuggle her aboard the transport,” said Patric.

 

“Yeah… yeah!”

 

“Alby, I was joking!”

 

“I know, but it could still work! We just need to get her aboard the ship somehow. Once we’ve made the first jump, we’re home free!”

 

“We most certainly are not! Vorsilva would find out she’s gone and send a tight-beam message which would beat us to Komarr. They’d drag her off the ship and send her back by fast courier—and probably to a court marshal if this Vorsilva is as big a jerk as you tell me he is.”

 

“Yeah, I guess so… damn! Somehow we have to get her aboard without Vorsilva knowing until it’s too late to do anything…”

 

“Alby, that’s crazy! She—and us!—could get in so much trouble!”

 

“Nah, once we’re outside of Imperial space, no one’s going to go to the trouble of shipping her back. And once we’re in action, who’s going to care anymore?”

 

“Alby, even if we could arrange all that, how would you ever get Anny to agree? She’s as straight an arrow as they come! She’d never disobey orders!”

 

“Oh yeah? You shoulda _seen_ her disobey orders when we were on Dounby!”

 

“That was different! You—and a lot of our people—were in danger. She’ll never abandon a comrade, but this isn’t the same thing at all!”

 

“Maybe so, but I’m damn well not going to abandon a comrade either! Now she’s in trouble and somehow we’re gonna help her!”

 

“But how?” asked Patric. “Heck, even if we could stuff her in a duffle bag, where would we put her? When we move out we’re not going straight up to the ships, they’re sending everyone to Vorbarr Sultana first for that send-off parade!”

 

“Yeah, yeah…” Alby knew that the Duffle Bag Gambit was a non-starter, but the parade complicated things even further. “Maybe we could lock her in a suit of battle armor. They’re being shipped up to the transports tomorrow.”

 

“Alby!”

 

“All right! All right!”

 

“Say, did you hear who one of the brigade commanders for the BEF is going to be?”

 

“No, who?”

 

“Commandant Sylvanus—he’s a general now—he’ll be commanding one of the brigades. He always seemed to like Anny. Think maybe he could help?”

 

“Maybe…” Alby thought furiously. Sylvanus might be willing to help, but Vorsilva would have seniority over him… but he might know someone higher-ranking… _Damn_! This was ridiculous! He’d made up a whole list of high-ranking people who his father had served with—if he could just get his father lucid enough to make some calls! Wait a minute… The Old Vor Network ought to work for sons, not just fathers…

 

_Maybe I don’t need the old man…_

 

Alby flung himself back into his chair and fired up the comconsole.

 

“Who are you calling?” asked Patric.

 

“Everyone.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Anny stared at the calendar on the wall. Three days. Three more days and the 61st would be moving out. First to Vorbarr Sultana for the send-off parade and then a couple of days later up to the transport ships that would take them to Nova Paveo.

And she’d still be here… left behind.

 

Of course she might not actually be here—at Fort Vorolson—for much longer. Apparently Vorsilva’s threat to have her sent to other bases to set up more women’s groups had not been an idle one. She had started getting messages from the S-9 officer at the Imperial Service Headquarters—a general no less—asking about the program she had set up. If they wanted her transferred, she had no doubt Vorsilva would sign the order in a heartbeat. If that happened, she might never see the 61st again. Might never command troops again…

 

“Lieutenant?” She twitched, dropping her stylus on the floor. Corporal Kane had snuck up on her again. How did anyone so tall manage to move so silently?

 

“Yes?”

 

“Got a minute?”

 

“Sure.” _I’ve got lots of minutes. Bushels of ‘em. How many do you want?_

 

“Good. I’ve run into a sort of problem with the idea of sending a reporter along with the BEF.”

 

“Why? The General approved it and so did the BEF chief of staff. I told you that the other day.”

 

“Yeah, but now I’ve got no one to send. Elridge and Malakov have both backed out on me. I suppose I could try and find someone in the 61st who’s going, but I don’t know anyone who I could trust to do the job.”

 

Anny shrugged, unable to generate much sympathy for Kane’s dilemma. “Well, it was a good idea, Corporal, but sometimes these things just don’t work out. Of the folks I know in the 61st, none of them really seem the reporter type. I wish I could help but…”

 

“But you _can_ help, sir.” Kane was smiling.

 

“How?”

 

“ _You_ could be our reporter.”

 

Anny snorted. “Are you crazy? _I’m_ not going along!”

 

“But you could! As our reporter!”

 

“Corporal…”

 

“Look at the order, sir!” He held out a flimsy; it was a copy of Vorsilva’s approval to send a reporter. “It says right here: _The S-9 office is authorized to send a representative with the Barrayaran Expeditionary Force to report back newsworthy items._ A ‘representative’, sir! It doesn’t say who! All the rest of this stuff on the page is just sayin’ we have to get permission from the Force commander and such—which you already did. We can send anyone we like! Why not you?”

 

“Corporal, I really don’t think that’s what General Vorsilva intended when he wrote this.”

 

“What difference does that make, sir?” Kane’s grin was even wider. “It’s an order. And an order’s an order, I always say.”

 

“I have my duties here…”

 

“Which the three of us can do just fine, sir! You’ve got things running so smoothly there’s no reason you couldn’t take a few months off on detached assignment. And that’s what it would be! Not like you’re abandoning your post or anything, sir! I looked it all up.”

 

Anny stared at the man in astonishment. This was ridiculous. Insane. Completely against regulations. Wasn’t it? _Wasn’t it?_ “But… but…”

 

“Why not, sir? I know you want to go along—can’t say I understand _why_ , but that’s none of my business. And here’s your chance. What d’you say, sir?”

 

“It… it would never work. Vorsilva would cancel the order… make me come back…” she was mumbling, in a daze.

 

“You’ll be long gone before he finds out,” said Kane. “Right after the 61st ships out the General is taking a two-week leave with his wife. He’s even cancelled the weekly staff meetings while he’s gone. By the time he realizes, you’ll be a dozen jumps away!”

 

“How… how do you know that? Have you been talking to Alby Vorsworth or something?”

 

“What? No, sir. But I’ve got my sources,” smirked Kane. “I’m a newshound, y’know!”

 

“This is… crazy…”

 

“Maybe so, sir, but if you want to go, I’m thinking this is your best shot.”

 

Anny continued to stare at the man. She _did_ want to go. More than anything. And if she could figure a way to go, Fetherbay would put her to work, she had no doubt of that. With the regiment, maybe back with her company, her platoon… her man. _Fortune favors the bold…_

 

“I… I need to think about this…”

 

“Sure!” said Kane. “But let me know what you decide, okay, sir? Only three days left, y’know.” The man picked up her stylus off the floor, set it on her desk and then left her office, still grinning.

 

Anny stared after him for a while but eventually her gaze drifted back to the blank comconsole screen. _This is crazy!_ That thought filled her mind for a long time, but slowly another thought began to intrude: _I want to go!_ For a while the two thoughts warred inside her head. _Crazy! Go! Crazy! Go! Crazy! Going… crazy…!_

 

Almost without volition her hand typed in a code on her comconsole. After a few moments, a harried-looking man appeared on the screen. “First Battalion ordnance, Sergeant Gadd, what do you…? Oh, Lieutenant Payne. What can I do for you?”

 

“Hi, Sarge,” she heard herself say. “All those new suits of Mark XIs that you’re shipping up to the fleet, you’ve got some spares, right? Replacements for damaged or destroyed ones?”

 

“Sure, about fifty of them, plus a shitload of spare parts. Trying to get those all organized right now.” The man’s eyes narrowed. “Why? You gonna need one?”

 

“Maybe. Thanks, Sarge. Talk to you later.” She cut the connection.

 

_I must be out of my mind…_

 

But despite a voice in the back of her head howling doom and disaster, she found herself typing out an order to herself to report to the regimental headquarters of the 61st Regiment Imperial Infantry as a news correspondent. She tagged a copy to brigade and regimental HQs, but she didn’t send it. It was all set up and saved, though. Just the touch of a key would send it on its way.

 

Then she started typing out detailed instructions on how to run the S-9 office ‘in the event the officer in command is absent’. She worked right through lunch. Then more suggestions to Sara Fetherbay on running the women’s groups. Then a letter to Lady Vorkosigan explaining what was happening and asking her to keep an eye on things. Everything went into a file ready…for what?

 

Her heart was pounding and her hands shaking as she pushed herself away from her desk. She took her greatcoat off the hook and walked into the outer office. “Leaving early sir?’ asked Sergeant Elridge.

 

“Yeah, close up when you go, okay?”

 

“Yes sir.”

 

She went out the back door, sealing up the coat against a frigid wind. Winterfair had come and gone and they were into the dead of winter now. It was damn cold. What sort of climate did Nova Paveo have? _Stop thinking about that! You are not going!_ Oh really? What had she just spent the afternoon doing? There was a dagger of fear in her gut colder than the wind.

 

It was not the fear of getting caught. Well, not _just_ the fear of getting caught. If all that Corporal Kane had said was true, she might very well be able to get away with this. Vorsilva might raise a stink when he found out, but it seemed unlikely that he’d have the pull to actually get her shipped back or face charges. No, she wasn’t afraid of the consequences—she was afraid of her own motivations. If she did this, it wouldn’t be for the good of the regiment or the good of the Imperium, it would be for _her_ good. Just because she wanted to. She could make up all the justifications and good reasons in the world, but they would all be lies. She’d be doing it for her own selfish desires. Oh, it probably wouldn’t do any harm and it might even do some actual good, but that would just be a by-product. She had the power to do this, but did she have the right?

 

She wandered through the base, struggling with her own thoughts. Throughout her years at the Academy, her duty had usually been clear. But now… now…

 

Her feet brought her back to the BOQ just as it was getting completely dark. Most everyone else would be off getting dinner, but Anny wasn’t the least bit hungry. She stamped some clinging snow off her boots and then trudged up the steps to the second floor. She hesitated when she saw that her door was open. What was Jac doing here at this hour? She stuck her head in the door and was startled to see that her dog-robber had all her clothing and gear laid out on the bed and the chairs and the desk and he appeared to be puzzling over something.

 

“Jac…?”

 

“Oh, hello, Lieutenant,” said the lance corporal. “How are you today?”

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“Oh!” For an instant Anny thought the man was going to say _nothing_ despite all the evidence to the contrary, but then he said: “The thought struck me the other day that I’d never actually tried packing up all your kit. You know, in case you had to move out. Not that you’re moving out, of course, but just in case, you understand.”

 

“Jac…”

 

“And I must say that it’s going very smoothly, sir. You wouldn’t believe the amount of junk some of the young gentlemen accumulate if they’ve been in one spot for a while.”

 

“Jac…”

 

“I was glad to see that you haven’t given into that temptation, Lieutenant. All your kit ought to fit into…”

 

“Jac!”

 

“Sir?”

 

“Why are you doing this now?”

 

“No time like the present, sir. A gram of prevention is worth a kilo of…”

 

“And a rolling stone gathers no damnweed. I am _not_ going anywhere, Lance Corporal!”

 

“Course not! Course not! Never said you were, sir!” said Jac, nodding his head. “But it’s good to know you could pack up and move in a hurry if you ever had to, isn’t it, sir?”

 

Anny scowled at him.

 

“But I am sorry to leave your quarters in such a mess. Wasn’t expecting you back this early, sir. Haven’t you eaten yet? Why don’t you nip over to the Mess for a bite and I’ll have this all tidied up by the time you get back.”

 

Since there wasn’t even any place to sit down, she let herself be ushered out of her own room and back outside into the cold. She had no desire to go to the Officers Mess; everyone was so excited and jolly over the deployment she couldn’t bear it. So she went to the normal mess hall and got a tray of food and sat down in the nearly deserted officers’ section. _What the hell was Jac up to?_ She asked herself the question again and again. She didn’t think for one minute it had been a coincidence. But if it wasn’t… _God! Has Corporal Kane been blabbing his idea of sending me off as a reporter all over camp?_ What a mess that could cause!

 

She dithered and pushed her food around on her plate with her fork and then eventually headed back to her quarters. Jac was gone and everything was back in order. Jer was especially attentive that night but he didn’t say a word about Anny coming along. Maybe Kane’s blabbing only extended to the enlisted ranks. Or maybe it _had_ been a coincidence. She was so distracted that she scarcely paid attention to Jer until she suddenly realized he wasn’t just trying to console her. He was in distress, himself, about their impending separation. Silently chastising herself she focused her attention on the man she loved and the evening went much better after that.

 

The next day her tension was even worse. What the hell was she going to do? If she was going to give in and try Kane’s crazy scheme she’d have to decide today. _Today._ There was no time left. She called up the file she’d created ‘authorizing’ her assignment to the Regiment as a reporter and re-read it about six times; making tiny and meaningless revisions to the wording each time. All she had to do was hit the ‘send’ key, say goodbye to her subordinates, start packing—and don’t look back. Would it be wrong? She started once again down the long list of pros and cons that had been swirling through her brain since Kane had suggested this insanity. Half the morning slipped by while she tortured herself.

 

_Fortune favors the bold._

 

That phrase kept coming back to her again and again. She’d proven she could be bold when necessary. In the midst of a forest fire, in the heat of combat, even during a training exercise. But coldly calculating and self-serving boldness, could she do that? Somehow it seemed a lot tougher than facing enemy fire.

 

It was almost lunch time. She had to decide. Now. Her hand reached toward the keyboard…

 

The ping from her comconsole signaling an incoming priority message was so unexpected she snatched her hand back and actually squeaked in alarm. Gasping, she hit the accept key and found herself facing Captain Vordranov, General Vorsilva’s chief of staff. “Yes sir?” she said, breathlessly.

 

“Payne! Get your ass up here! The General wants to see you—right now!”

 

“Y-yes, sir! On my way!” She was out of her chair and out of the office in an instant.

 

_Oh God, what’s this? Has he found out what I was planning? If Jac knew, others could, too. If he heard rumors, he could have checked my comconsole and found that order! Oh God, Oh God, Oh God!_

 

She fairly ran up the stairs to the second floor where Vorsilva had his office. The secretary waved her through to Vordranov who simply scowled at her and pointed at the door to the General’s office. Anny went through and came to attention in front of Vorsilva’s large desk. “Lieutenant Payne, reporting as ordered, sir,” she said, saluting.

 

Vorsilva did not return the salute. He just glared at her, tapping a finger on a small pile of flimsies. Anny, wearing thermal underwear because of the frigid temperatures outdoors, found herself sweating.

 

After nearly a minute, Vorsilva finally broke his silence. “Thirty years. I’ve been in the Imperial Service for thirty years, Payne, and I have never—never!—seen something like this!” Anny’s mouth fell open but she snapped it shut before anything stupid could fall out. _Shut up! Don’t say anything unless he asks a question!_ “I suppose that with time, we become used to people using their influence to manipulate the system. It becomes normal for people to do that to get what they want. But I have never seen anything so… so _blatant_ as this!” He slapped his hand down on the flimsies. What were they? Copies of the orders she’d written? He reached out and picked one up.

 

“From General Timmon Vorzanov: ‘General Vorsilva, I realize the needs of your command come first, but if you could see fit to release Lieutenant Payne back to her regiment, I’d consider it a personal favor.’”

 

 _What? Who…?_ Anny had never heard of the man.

 

Vorsilva dropped the first flimsy and picked up another. “From Admiral Wainwright: ‘I was wondering if you’d consider sending Payne back to her regiment?’ And this is from General Vorlanton: ‘It seems to me that a rising young officer would better serve the Imperium in a combat unit…’ ” Vorsilva snatched up the entire stack and waved them at her. “Twelve! Twelve of them! Six generals, five admirals and one commodore! All _suggesting_ I send you back to your regiment! All of them arrived this morning! How in God’s name did you ever find time to even _meet_ all these people?”

 

“I… I…” Anny gibbered, but Vorsilva was still going on.

 

“But the topper, your crowning moment of improper meddling came just a few minutes ago!” He picked up yet another flimsy. “’Lieutenant Andreanne Payne is to be returned to duty with the 61st Regiment Imperial Infantry immediately.’ Not a request! An order! From General Vordalla, the head of the Imperial Chiefs of Staff! Well? What do you have to say for yourself, Payne?”

 

But Anny was hardly listening anymore. _Returned? Back to the 61 st? I’m not being left behind?_ A silly grin was starting to grow on her face.

 

 _“Well?”_ roared Vorsilva. Anny flinched.

 

“I… I… I have nothing to say, sir,” she stammered out. She ruthlessly told her facial muscles to ditch the grin, but they ignored her.

 

“I’ll bet you don’t!” snarled Vorsilva. “In my day this sort of gross favoritism would never have been tolerated! What’s this empire coming to? Proven officers are left rotting on the shelf while every damn… _toady_ who has a friend in high places gets the plum assignments!” The man’s face was turning red, but he finally cut off his rant. He stared at her so venomously that her grin finally went into hiding.

 

“Well!” he snapped. “There are still a few of us left who know how to follow an order and I’ve been given one!” He held up the flimsy again. “Go on! Get out! Go back to your damn regiment!”

 

“Thank you, s…”

 

“Go!”

 

“Yes, sir!” Anny didn’t wait a moment longer. She saluted, spun on her heel and marched away. Once out of the office she sprinted back to her own desk and erased all trace of her self-generated correspondent order. By then her _real_ order for returning to the 61st had arrived. She read it four times in growing elation.

 

“Good news, sir?” Corporal Kane was leaning in her door.

 

“Yes,” she said. Very good.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Alby denied everything, of course.

 

And his denial of contacting General Vordalla was so convincing that Anny felt sure he was telling the truth. So there was at least one other player in this bizarre game that had landed her exactly where she wanted to be. Lord Vorkosigan?

 

“Does it really matter?” asked Jer when she voiced her curiosity. “The important thing is you’re coming along!”

 

She couldn’t argue with that.

 

The mad scramble to wrap up her affairs at Fort Vorolson and get ready to ship out had left her breathless. She was sad to leave the women’s groups behind but Sara Fetherbay said she would keep them running. They would be more important than ever with all the families remaining at the fort while the men were away. And with the regiment possibly heading into combat, it wouldn’t be like a normal deployment with the fleet. Anny promised Corporal Kane that she would send back stories as often as she could. Jac promised he’d get all her gear sent up to the transport ship she’d be on.

 

And so, two days later, she and Jer and Alby and Patric and a whole lot of other people were marching down the main streets of Vorbarr Sultana in their red-and-blue parade uniforms, being cheered by thousands and thousands of onlookers. It wasn’t quite as big or quite as jubilant as the parade for Princess Kareen had been. For one thing it was still winter and the weather kept a lot of people away. For another, they weren’t celebrating a royal birth, they were sending their troops away, to some unimaginably distant place where battle might await. The Emperor was on a reviewing stand and Anny thought his face looked very somber; nothing at all like he looked that day celebrating his daughter’s birth.

 

But the bands played gallant tunes and somehow they’d found flower petals to strew in the streets and a watery winter sun bathed the whole thing in a gentle glow. Anny marched at the front of her platoon—it was hers again! Patric had been given another assignment!—and the column wound its way through the streets and life was very good.

 

The parade ended at Vorbarr Sultana’s main monorail station where the troops would board a series of special trains which would take them to a large military shuttleport outside the city. The troops were allowed to break ranks and say their goodbyes to the families which had followed them here. With the whole BEF there, it was a mob scene and it took several hours for everyone to board the trains. Anny found Jer and just mingled until it was their turn.

 

The excitement and pride of the parade was giving way to the realization that these partings could last for years and they could last forever. It was a scene that had been replayed thousands of times in Barrayaran history—and human history stretching back millennia: women seeing their men off to war. Tears seemed to be on every face and Anny found herself choking up at times. There had been no time for her own family to make the trip to the city and she was just as glad they weren’t here. Alby’s parents had come, his father in a power chair, and it had made a deep impression on the usually cynical Alby. He had clung to his mother for a long time and didn’t say much afterwards. His two brothers hadn’t returned after another such goodbye.

 

“It’s sinking in,” said Jer.

 

“Yeah, this is for real. When we left on our training cruise it still didn’t seem real. None of us were expecting what happened on Dounby. This time…”

 

“Sorry you’re coming?” asked Jer with a grin.

 

“Not a bit. This is where I belong.”

 

Finally there was an announcement in the earbugs they were all wearing: “61st Regiment! Attention! Prepare to embark! 1st Battalion, Gate 32! 2nd Battalion, Gate 36! 3rd Battalion, Gate 40! All other 61st personnel, Gate 45!”

 

A shudder went through Anny. The transport ships only held a battalion each. She and Jer would be on different ships for the long journey to Nova Paveo. Supposedly they would be given shore leave a few times at planets along the way, but they wouldn’t be seeing much of each other on the trip and maybe not at all once they got to their destination. Suddenly, they were clinging to each other, locked in a kiss. “Take care of yourself,” she whispered in his ear when they broke the kiss.

 

“You, too,” he whispered back. “I love you.”

 

“Love you, too.”

 

They slowly let go of each other. More than a few people were gawking at them, but she didn’t care. They pulled apart, fingers still entwined until they finally had to let go. Anny nodded to him and then headed toward where her battalion was forming. On the way, she saw Colonel Fetherbay with his wife and daughter. The girl was clinging to him and sobbing. Anny looked away.

 

Sergeant Kay had the platoon lined up and waiting when she got there. The rest of the battalion was nearly formed. “Everything in order, Sergeant?” she asked him.

 

“Yes, sir. Good to have you back, sir.”

 

“Good to be back.”

 

Vorstang— _Captain_ Vorstang now, there had been a wave of long-overdue promotions in the regiment—called C Company to attention. A monorail car was sliding into position opposite where they were waiting and the doors popped open.

 

“All aboard!” bellowed First Sergeant Nikolaidis.

 

The men shuffled through the doors and found seats. Except for their ceremonial rifles they carried no gear at all. Everything had –hopefully!—been sent up to their transports already. Anny unclipped her sword and put it in the overhead rack and sat down. Ensign Vorgard plopped down next to her.

 

“Well!” he exclaimed, looking excited. “We’re on our way!”

 

“Yes,” said Anny. “We’re on our way.”

 

 

**End of Book One**

 

 


	3. Lieutenants Part 3

**First Interlude**

 

 **“S** o,they’re on their way?” asked Miles Vorkosigan.

 

“They should be breaking orbit in just a few minutes,” replied Gregor Vorbarra. He paused and ran his hands through his dark hair. There was a bit of gray showing in the temples now, Miles observed—just like on his own temples. “Why do I see myself saying a year from now: ‘well, it seemed like a good idea at the time’?”

 

“You’re really worried about this, aren’t you?”

 

“Aren’t you? By the time you include all the fleet personnel, support, diplomatic people, and various hangers-on, we’re sending nearly 50,000 of our people to the back end of nowhere for purposes that look less and less clear every day. How many of them are going to be coming back in cryo-freeze—or not at all?”

 

“You’ve never really done this before, have you? Send troops into battle, I mean.”

 

“Well, I suppose I was responsible for the men who fought at Vervain, but I wasn’t really the one in command, as you’ll recall.” Gregor gave Miles an ironic smile.

 

“That was really something, wasn’t it?” Miles smiled back.

 

“Growing nostalgic for the old days, Miles?”

 

“There are times when I still miss it, yes. Not so much now, but still… There’s nothing quite like that adrenalin high just before going into action. Part excitement and part sheer terror.” Miles paused and looked down at his boots. “It was scary being in combat, but the thing that scared me the most was knowing that if I screwed up a lot more than just me could die. My friends, my comrades… my _command_ could die. I had gotten so damn proud of the Dendarii that the thought of seeing my creation destroyed was more horrible than just about anything else. I had nightmares about it. I’d be in the tactics room, watching the shuttles going down, and I’d suddenly realize there was some terrible mistake in my plan and even though there was still time to fix it, I’d be paralyzed in my chair, unable to move or say anything, just watching the disaster unfold. Usually that’s when I woke up.” He looked sheepishly at Gregor. “I never mentioned any of those dreams to Simon.”

 

“No, I suppose not,” said Gregor very softly. “That’s the sort of the nightmare I’m living right now. Once the fleet makes its first jump I won’t know if I’ve made a terrible mistake until it’s far, far too late to do anything about it.”

 

“It’s a powerful force, Gregor. After the rendezvous with the other contingents, it’s unlikely to encounter anything it can’t handle.”

 

“True,” nodded the Emperor. “Even if the Nuevo Brasilians sent their entire fleet to try to intercept us, they couldn’t win.”

 

“And they’d end up at war with nearly all the great powers. They’d never risk it.”

 

“No, you’re right. But I’m not worried about some big disaster, just a series of small, on-going disasters once they get there. Miles, I’ve studied the histories of other missions like this—some going back a thousand years or more—and they rarely end well.”

 

Miles frowned and then shrugged. “Well, there isn’t anything we can do now. We’re committed. We’ll just have to hope that the people we’re sending are up to the job.”

 

A small smile appeared on Gregor’s lips. “I’m still rather amazed about one of the people we’re sending. I must admit that took me by surprise. But there was no reason for me to intervene and several not to.”

 

Miles chuckled. “Well, at least we don’t have to worry about _him_ deliberately putting himself in harm’s way.”

 

“No, that’s true.”

 

“But you said you had something else you wanted to discuss?”

 

“Yes, it’s something that Laisa brought to my attention. Some rather odd goings-on concerning Kibou-daini. I don’t know if it’s something for an auditor to get involved with _yet_ , but I want your opinion.”

 

“Okay, show me what you’ve got.”

 

 

* * *

 

Deputy Counsel Lord Ivan Xav Vorpatril watched the fleet moving out of orbit from the observation lounge aboard the Imperial battleship _Prince Serg_. It was an impressive sight. Damned impressive. The biggest deployment of Barrayaran troops since the ill-fated invasion of Escobar over forty years previously. There had been a few fleet operations in the last decades that had contained more warships than this, but when you added in the transports and the large number of auxiliaries it was the biggest task force in more than a generation.

 

And Ivan was going along. Ivan and his wife, Tej.

 

It still seemed slightly incredible to him. He’d spent twenty years in the Imperial Forces and never once voluntarily gotten within light years of a combat zone. He’d been in a few combat zones, of course, but never by choice. Usually it had been Miles’ fault. And now, mere months after retiring from the military he found himself heading toward a war zone—as a diplomat!

 

He hadn’t planned it. When he’d applied for a position in the Diplomatic Service he’d pulled some strings to get assigned to Lord Vorpinski’s staff. Vorpinski had been a diplomat at large for many years. He travelled all over the Wormhole Nexus on Imperial business and Ivan and Tej had decided that it might be fun to travel for a few years before finally settling down somewhere and starting their family.

 

But the ink was barely dry on his appointment when Vorpinski was ordered to join the Barrayaran Expeditionary Force and go to Nova Paveo! Ivan could have backed out, but it would have burned up all those favors he’d called in for nothing. God only knew where he’d end up assigned instead. So, after some long talks with Tej they decided to go ahead. With any luck it wouldn’t be a long assignment. With any luck there wouldn’t be any combat…

 

“So, we’re off.” Ivan turned and smiled as Tej came to stand next to him and took his arm. “Our first adventure in a long time.”

 

“The first one since we met. You really want to do this?”

 

“Don’t start that again! We’ve made up our minds, remember? One last fling and then we start cranking out little Vorlings to make your mother happy.”

 

“Hopefully to make us all happy. And Mamere’s not getting any younger. Neither am I for that matter.” Tej smiled and poked him but didn’t answer. She was ten years younger than him and with the advantage of galactic gene screening and a uterine replicator birth, she’d probably out-live him by thirty years or more. That thought had been weighing on him more and more lately. Yes, one last fling and then children. Maybe he was finally ready for that…

 

“Ah, Ivan, there you are.” They both turned to see Lord Vorpinski and his wife, Larissa, approaching. They were both in their sixties, but fit and energetic. “Quite a sight, eh?” Vorpinski pointed at the large viewport. “But I’m glad I’m seeing it from here! Did ten years aboard ship when I was a lad, and sometimes months would go by between chances to see outside. Glad we’re not junior officers anymore, eh?”

 

“Yes, sir,” agreed Ivan. “And I understand that Admiral Vorburke sets a very fine table, too.”

 

“Yes! I’ve travelled with him a few times and he’s got an excellent cook and a steward who is an absolute genius at procuring local delicacies from the worlds we stop at. There should be ample opportunities for that on this odyssey.”

 

“Lots of formal dinners once we join up with the other contingents, I would imagine, sir. I assume they are all sending diplomatic parties as well?”

 

“Oh yes! Absolutely! In many ways this whole enterprise is a diplomatic one rather than military. It may have started out as a humanitarian mission, but once the great powers got involved, well, things took on a momentum of their own.”

 

Ivan nodded. The situation in the Wormhole Nexus had a lot of similarities to the Age of Exploration and Colonization on Old Earth, centuries before space travel. A cluster of powerful worlds had grown up around a central core: Earth, Beta Colony, the Cetagandan Empire, Pol, Escobar, Barrayar and the Nuevo Brasilians, plus a dozen or so secondary powers. From there, hundreds of other colonies had spread out along the intricate chain of jump routes that was the Nexus. Some were sponsored by the governments of the Powers and far more were independent ventures. By this time no one really knew how far humanity had spread. Some estimates put the number of settled worlds in the thousands. In the early days, some of the Powers had visions of vast, galaxy-spanning empires. There had been a century or so, while Barrayar was locked in its own Time of Isolation, where there had been a mad race going on to grab the best planets and most strategic star systems and out-settle the competition.

 

But just as on Earth of the past, the vast distances and long travel times made it very hard for the mother worlds to hang on to their colonies for long. Time after time, worlds that had been expected to be the bases from which these new empires would grow, had decided that they wanted destinies of their own and would declare independence. The nature of the nexus made it easy for those bids for freedom. You could only get from one world to another by the wormhole jump routes that led from star to star. More often than not the route from a mother world to a colony passed through at least one star system held by some other power or by some independent world. And if that world decided that its sympathies lay with the rebels—or just wanted to screw with the mother world—well, they could make it very difficult for the ‘rightful owners’ to reinforce their garrisons. The centuries following the mad land-rush had seen the nascent empires shatter into hundreds of independent worlds that were just too hard to re-conquer to be worth the effort. Most of the Powers gave up on the whole idea.

 

Most of them.

 

There had still been an occasional attempt over the years for someone to build a strong base in the outer reaches from which other worlds could be seized and held. Ivan had never really grasped just what these mother worlds hoped to accomplish. Taxes? Military strength? Prestige? Only the last one made any sense. It was hard to believe that any wealth or military strength that might be returned to the home world could pay back the original investment. Still, some worlds had tried.

 

The latest was the attempt by the Nuevo Brasilians. The EnBees, as they were commonly referred to, had been an almost-great power for a long time. Or perhaps a wannabe great power would be a more accurate description. They had grand visions, grand schemes, and some truly grand failures. One scheme, many centuries ago, had seen them try to build a genetically engineered clone army of super-soldiers. That had failed so spectacularly that it had nearly been the end of the EnBees right there. And it had so soured nearly everyone else on the very idea of super-soldiers that there had been few attempts ever since. Which was a good thing in Ivan’s opinion.

 

Still, every few generations, the EnBees would raise a fuss by some abortive invasion attempt or massive military build-up that would force their neighbors to take notice until they calmed down again. They had always been a loose cannon.

 

The latest fuss centered around the colony world of Nova Paveo. From the briefing Ivan had received, he knew that it was a hospitable world in a star system that had a good number of wormhole exits. It had been colonized about a century earlier by what appeared to be an independent group with only a few cultural ties to the EnBees. As was most often the case, the most direct route to Nova Paveo led through a large number of systems controlled by other worlds. But what was only just now coming to light was the fact that the EnBees had discovered another, far more roundabout, route to Nova Paveo that passed through uninhabited systems or systems whose inhabitants didn’t care about ships passing through. And so the EnBees had secretly pumped massive resources into Nova Paveo in hopes of creating an industrialized base for further expansion.

 

They had attempted to neutralize the threat of rebellion by only sending colonists with the strongest loyalty to the home world: grandees from their aristocratic class and workers who had gone through the most intense training and propaganda. And a very strong force of their feared secret police.

 

But once again, the EnBees had screwed up.

 

In spite of all their precautions, all their informers and agents and soldiers, there had still been a revolt. Information from ImpSec indicated that it had started out as a top-down coup rather than a popular revolution. The grandee sent as governor had decided that he was going to set up an empire of his own rather than work for the bosses back home. But the rebellion was only partially successful. There had been enough loyalists willing to fight that the governor had failed to seize the whole planet. The EnBees had brought in reinforcements to secure their remaining foothold. From there things had just gotten worse. The word was that the original leader had been killed, but before he went he’d managed—probably unintentionally—to turn the rebellion into an actual popular uprising. With rebels against loyalists it had turned into a bloody civil war.

 

This probably wouldn’t have concerned the rest of the galaxy all that much—such things happened often enough, after all—except that the new rebel leaders had a knack for public relations and diplomacy. Realizing they would need outside help if they were to survive, they had gone right to the top. They hadn’t bothered asking their weak neighbors for help; they’d gone to the Great Powers, distant though they might be. The fact that the EnBees had struck at the rebels with all their legendary brutality had given the rebel emissaries plenty of ammunition for their case. The Betans, always interested in maintaining the status quo, and the Polians, who had a deliberately cultivated reputation as peacemakers, had been quite receptive to the plea for help. In a rather remarkable bit of diplomatic maneuvering the rebels had managed to sell the idea of a multi-national peacekeeping force going to Nova Paveo. Clearly they were hoping that an enforced cease-fire would eventually become a de facto state of independence.

 

At face value it was a humanitarian mission, but behind the scenes there was a lot more going on. None of the Great Powers really trusted each other. The Great Game for dominance might have entered a long quiet period, but it never really ended. Each power was always on the lookout for something that might give it an edge over the others. Nova Paveo was not all that valuable a prize, but if the EnBees wanted it then maybe the Cetagandans would want it, too. Or Pol, or some coalition of Earth nations. Or Barrayar. No one was willing to let any one of the others have a free hand out there. So they were all coming along. And they would all be scheming and plotting and backstabbing the whole time.

 

And so, here was Ivan. _What a mess. Well, at least the food will be good._

 

“Dear,” said Larissa Vorpinski to her husband, jogging Ivan out of his musings. “Did you know that Tej, here, is an absolute wiz at languages? She speaks about a dozen of them and is studying more. She’ll be a real asset to you, I think.”

 

“Really?” said Vorpinski looking interested. “Those earbug translators do the job, but are no substitute for actually speaking the language. You have a natural talent for them, Tej?”

 

“Yes sir,” said Tej, shrugging. “They’re fun. I hear a new language for a while and I seem to pick it right up. When I heard we’d be coming out here I started studying some of the more prominent languages used by the coalition and the Paveans. They have the most unusual variation on Portuguese, you know.”

 

“No, I didn’t know. Interesting. How about Cetagandan? I’ve tried for years to get a grasp on their language, but with no success.”

 

“It _is_ very tricky, sir,” said Tej, nodding. “The actual vocabulary is straightforward enough, but they have all these complicated grammatical forms depending on who is speaking to whom. Haut to haut, ghem to ghem, haut to ghem, ghem to haut, and a whole set of variations depending on the specific ranks of the people speaking. And that’s just for them talking to each other. When talking to foreigners there is another whole set of rules. I’m slowly getting the hang of them.”

 

“That’s wonderful. I may find some work for you, Tej!” Vorpinski grinned at her.

 

“I was hoping to do more than just be a tourist, sir.” Tej smiled back at him.

 

“Well, I’ve never been one to let willing hands go idle!” Vorpinski glanced meaningfully at Ivan. “We’re creating a nest for a whole batch of vipers here, and once they all arrive I can guarantee you that we’ll all have our hands full!”

 

 

* * *

 

 

The young man stood in the driving sleet and shivered. The streets of Vorbarr Sultana were nearly deserted due to the weather, but the solemn funeral procession made its way down the boulevard as if there were thousands watching. Just a few days before, there _had_ been thousands lining these streets, watching the departure of the Barrayaran Expeditionary Force. There were a still a few shriveled flower petals floating in the gutter.

 

The young man shook his head sadly. The old man who lay in the casket atop the horse-drawn carriage would have loved that parade, but he was already in the final stage of his death coma and had known nothing of it. The notion that Barrayar was once again flexing its muscles and sending its youth to the stars would have delighted the old man.

 

The only connection between the young man and the old was their mutual passion for politics and many common beliefs concerning those politics. When they had first met, the younger had clearly been the junior, a protégé, perhaps, but as the years passed and the youth matured and the elder had faded, they had been more like equals. The young man felt a strange empty feeling, like standing next to some enormous hole that had once been level ground.

 

_I’m going to miss you, Old Man._

 

It was a strange thought. Neither one had ever shown even the slightest trace of affection for the other, fearing, perhaps, that it would be misinterpreted. But now that it was too late to matter, he had to admit that he’d liked the old codger.

 

The procession was led by a single drummer whose instrument was draped in black crepe and muffled so that the steady, slow beat seemed from far off. Due to the old man’s distinguished military career in years long past, he was entitled to an escort of soldiers and the Academy’s corps of cadets had supplied a company. The young man snorted silently when he saw that several of the cadets, marching at the half-step, black arm bands on their dress uniforms, rifles reversed, were girls.

 

That was a bit of irony: the old man had _hated_ the notion of letting women into the military. He’d even taken some steps to sabotage the attempt of the very first woman trying to enter the military. Unsuccessfully as it turned out. The young man had felt it a waste of effort, but had never said so.

 

“It’s a disgrace,” said a voice at his elbow.

 

The young man jumped slightly. A stranger had come up next to him unseen. A man perhaps a few years older than him. “I beg your pardon?”

 

“Allowing those damn sluts to march in his escort!” snapped the man, pointing to the cadets. “Everyone knows he opposed letting them in. This is a deliberate slap in the face!”

 

The young man considered it for a moment but rather doubted that any such thing had been intended. But why was this fellow here and talking to him like this? “Excuse me, do I know you, sir?”

 

“We’ve never met, but I know your reputation,” said the stranger. “My name is Vorritter.”

 

 

**BOOK TWO**

 

 

**Chapter 13**

 

 **“A** ll hands stand by for acceleration! Repeat: All hands stand by for acceleration!” The speaker mounted in the ceiling blasted out the announcement so loudly Anny flinched.

 

“Man, they aren’t wasting any time!” exclaimed Private Kerbeck. “We just got aboard this tub!” The other members of Anny’s platoon were shuffling through the airlock leading from the hanger bay.

 

“Don’t call it a tub if there are any crewmen around,” warned Anny. “They tend to get upset about things like that.”

 

“Sure thing, Lieutenant,” smirked Kerbeck.

 

“Should we hold on to something, sir?” asked a young private named Urbaniak. He was looking around for a handhold, she guessed.

 

“No, that was for the crew, not us. If the compensator is working properly we won’t feel a thing.”

 

“And if it’s not working?”

 

“We still won’t feel a thing.”

 

“Yeah, ‘cause we’ll all be squashed to strawberry jam before we’ll even notice, right, Lieutenant?” said Kerbeck looking at Urbaniak, who had gone pale.

 

“That’s right,” sighed Anny. “But don’t worry, the crewmen take very good care of the compensators. First time off planet, private?”

 

“Y-yessir. Well, except for a few hops in shuttles during training.”

 

“You’ll be fine.” Anny turned as Sergeant Kay made his way up to her through the tightly packed troopers. “All present, Platoon Sergeant?”

 

“Yes sir.”

 

“All right, stick together and let’s see if we can find our berths. They’re all on this deck, so they shouldn’t be too far.” She automatically reached for her computer pad, but it wasn’t on her belt the way it would normally be. _Parade red-and-blues, what a pain!_ Generally Anny liked fancy uniforms quite a lot, but the traditional Barrayaran parade uniforms were patterned after a type worn by the Vorbarra clan infantry several centuries earlier. The only pockets were in the long tails in back that hung down to the knees. Anny fumbled around until she managed to pull the ‘pad out and turn it on.

 

“Okay,” she said, consulting their orders and an attached deck plan of the ship, “we should be down this way, compartment E-19.” She was about to say ‘grab your gear’, but they didn’t have any gear. They’d been shipped directly up from Vorbarr Sultana after the big send-off parade with nothing but their uniforms and ceremonial weapons. Supposedly all their other gear had already been sent up and ought to be waiting for them. She hoped it was. “Follow me.”

 

She led her platoon past the other groups of milling troopers. The way seemed familiar to her and it was. They were aboard the Imperial attack transport _Stalwart_. Anny had spent a few days aboard the ship during an exercise in her third year at the Academy. What was the name of that ensign who had piloted their shuttle? Kershaw, that was it. She wondered if he was still aboard.

 

E-Deck on _Stalwart_ was where all the important stuff was located—at least if you were an assault trooper. Arrayed along both sides were the bays where the assault shuttles were kept. Just inboard of those were where the troopers’ suits of battle armor were stored. And then along the center of the deck were the berthing quarters for the men.

 

“Birthing quarters?” snorted Private Kerbeck when someone used the term. “Ya mean like a maternity ward or something? Ain’t nobody here gonna be giving birth … er….” his laughter faltered when he saw Anny staring at him.

 

“Kerbeck, how the hell do you manage to walk with one foot in your mouth all the time?” asked Corporal Whelan.

 

“Mmmph… practice… Mmmph!” choked Kerbeck, hopping on one foot. The men laughed and Anny grinned. They were all in good spirits. Off on a big adventure. She was so glad to be back with them!

 

“Here we are, E-19,” said Anny. The compartment was filled with bunks stacked four high. Each bunk had several large duffle bags sitting on it, the men’s gear, presumably. The two walls flanking the door were rows of lockers. The far wall had three doors in it. One led to the showers and toilets which also connected to three other berthing compartments. If everything had been organized properly they would be occupied by the other three platoons of C Company. A second door led to what Anny assumed was the officers’ quarters. But when she looked inside the bunks were filled with the gear of the platoon’s sergeants and corporals. On her training cruise they had put the cadet-officers in there… where…?

 

The third door solved the mystery. It had been sealed on her training cruise, but now it was open and she saw that it led to a steep set of steps that went up to D Deck. Rechecking her orders, she saw that, indeed, she was listed as being on D Deck. _Of course. Heaven forbid that officers would bunk near their men!_ Actually, it was a bit of a relief. She hadn’t been sure how she would work out the bathroom arrangements.

 

Assured that her men were getting settled in, Anny trotted up the steps and into a long corridor with lots of doors. There were a batch of officers wandering up and down looking at the numbers on the doors. She smiled when she saw Patric Mederov. He had been briefly given command of her platoon, but had graciously agreed to shift to A Company when she returned. “Hey, Anny”, he said when he saw her.

 

“Hi Patric! Found your bunk yet?”

 

“No, but it must be up this way, I think.”

 

“There seems to be stairs leading down to each company. You’d think they’d put us right next to the stairs to our men.” She looked at the numbers on the doors close by and that clearly wasn’t the case.

 

“Naw, that would make too much sense. I’m in D-44, that must be back this way,” he said, pointing toward the stern.

 

“Looks like I’m in the other direction. Well, see you later.” Her orders said she was in D-09, which ought to be right about… there. She hesitated before hitting the entry button. Was this a standard two-person compartment? Would she be expected to share it with another officer or would they put her in here alone? On her apprentice cruise they’d given her the quarters intended for a company commander. In the last minute rush to get her back with the regiment had anyone even thought about her situation? What if in some bizarre cosmic practical joke she was paired with one of Adrien Vorkerkas’ buddies? At least it couldn’t be him since he was on the 2nd battalion transport. She took a breath and pushed the entry button. The door slid open and she saw that the room was not unoccupied, but…

 

“Jac!”

 

“Ah, there you are, sir,” said her dog-robber, looking up from a pile of her things on the bunk. “Welcome aboard.”

 

“What… what are you doing here?” she gasped. “The ship is breaking orbit! You won’t be able to get back down!”

 

“Not going back down, sir,” said the elderly soldier with a grin. “Coming along with you.”

 

“But… but… your wife! And you’ll be retiring soon!” Anny was flabbergasted.

 

“Not retiring for almost two years, sir. And Polly said that she was letting me off the leash for one last time. After I get back I’m hers for good. D’you want your tunics hanging up or folded?”

 

“Uh, hanging if there’s a spot. But Jac, we’re heading into a combat zone!”

 

“Wouldn’t be the first time for me, sir.”

 

“Really?” Anny had had many a conversation with Jac, but he’d never said anything about being in combat!

 

“My first time was during Vordarian’s War. I was a raw recruit, of course, hell, they pulled my whole training battalion out of camp, gave us rifles, and sent us to one of the trouble spots. Not a lot of fighting, of course—hell, we didn’t even know which side we were on until it was all over—but a few of my buddies got nicked. After that, well, I was a lot of places where a person could get shot at. Komarr, during the uprising… fought pirates once or thrice… oh, other times, here and there. This shouldn’t be much different, I’m thinking. Besides, someone needs to look out for you, sir.”

 

“Where… where are you bunking?” The compartment did have two beds…

 

“Oh, with the other non-commissioned staff, Lieutenant. One deck down. Don’t worry, I’m all settled in. Came up here with all the other gear yesterday. And some damn good chow on this here ship, sir.”

 

“Yes, one good thing about the navy.”

 

“But here I am yacking away and you wanting to be out of those red-and-blues, I’m certain! Always hated those things. I’ll wait out in the passageway while you change, sir, then I can get the rest of your kit unpacked.” He went through the door and shut it behind him.

 

Anny stared after him for half a minute, a warm glow inside her. Having Jac along made things just feel… right, somehow. She had become quite fond of her old dog-robber over the months he’d been working for her. She shook herself and peeled off her parade uniform and hung it up, thinking how ridiculous it was to haul it halfway across the Nexus and back again when she wouldn’t need it for anything. She wasn’t sure if undress greens or black fatigues would be more appropriate for shipboard, but she decided on the side of caution and went with the greens. Normally, the uniform for the day was announced beforehand, but no one seemed to have thought of it today. Just as she was finishing up, the door buzzer went off and a moment later the door slid open. Jac was standing there with a strange expression on his face.

 

“Uh, sir, your… uh… your roommate is here.”

 

“My what…?” _Roommate? Who…?_

 

Jac stood aside and a person stepped up to the door.

 

A woman.

 

“Lieutenant Payne?” she said. “I’m Chief Medical Technician Tropio, 389th Field Hospital Company. My orders say I’m supposed to stay here.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“It just never occurred to me that there would be other women with the expedition,” said Anny. “I mean I know that’s stupid; I know that there have been women in the medical services for a long time, but I’ve just… just…”

 

“Gotten used to being the only woman around?” finished Christine Tropio, with a grin. The two women were sitting on their bunks, facing each other. Tropio looked to be about ten years older than Anny, half a head shorter, and her pale blonde hair was cut nearly as short as Anny’s dark brown locks.

 

“Yes,” said Anny with a snort. “There were times at the Academy when I’d sort of forget that women even existed until I’d see myself in the mirror.”

 

“Yeah, I know what you mean. Dealing with nothing but men day after day it gets to feel like the whole world is male.”

 

“But you say there are eight other women in your company? Where are they staying?”

 

“They curtained off a section for them in the NCO quarters in one of the normal company berths. My company is quartered just aft of your troopers. But apparently, as the senior tech, they are now considering me as a sort of officer, so they sent me up here. I hope you don’t mind—not that it would make any difference if you did.”

 

“No! Not at all! I think it will be… really good having you here. But are you in command of your company, Chris?”

 

Tropio snorted. “Not likely! Haven’t you heard? Women aren’t fit to command men.” She stared at Anny and grinned. “But no, I guess _you_ haven’t heard that, have you?”

 

“I’ve caught a few rumors to that effect,” said Anny, grinning in turn. “But maybe some changes are coming.”

 

“Maybe. Actually, my CO, Lieutenant Krelnikov, isn’t a bad sort. He’s willing to give us girls a chance and, in fact, I do end up commanding a lot of men. Not that they’d admit it, of course, since I’m not technically a soldier.” A note of bitterness seeped into Tropio’s voice and Anny nodded sympathetically. The medtech was wearing a uniform, but it was distinctly different from any worn by the regular military. It was a pale green—almost the same shade as surgical scrubs—and lacking most of the military style and decorations that made Barrayaran uniforms so snazzy. And while Tropio wore a name badge that said she was a senior medical technician, there was no rank insignia of any sort. At least the women were permitted to wear trousers—although Anny had noticed when Tropio was unpacking that her ‘dress’ uniform included a knee-length skirt that was worn _over_ her trousers.

 

“Well, I’m certainly glad to have you along, in any case,” said Anny. “They’re attaching one hospital company with each battalion?”

 

“That’s what we’ve been told. I know you assault troopers don’t have much in the way of organic medical support.”

 

“No, that’s true. We’re supposed to be as self-contained as possible to stay mobile. Our armor can supply quite a bit of first aid and there are two men in each platoon with extra training, but for serious injuries we need outside help.” Anny hesitated. “If any of the men give you or your girls any trouble let me know.”

 

Tropio smiled. “We’re pretty good at taking care of ourselves, Anny. But if we run into anything we can’t handle, I’ll be sure to tell you.” Now Tropio hesitated. “Sometimes there’s trouble when we’re first attached to a unit. The men don’t know what to think of us and, well, some of them think the wrong thing. But usually, once we’ve worked with them for a while, the men are glad to have the Vivs around.”

 

“Vivs?”

 

“Oh, that’s what we call ourselves. It’s short for _vivandiere_. It’s French. Means ‘givers of life’ or some such thing. Goes way, way back in history, Old Earth. Women who followed the men into battle and carried water and dressed wounds and such. I guess some people would call them camp-followers, but they wore uniforms and were on the unit rosters and got issued rations even if they weren’t paid. Not sure how we picked up the term, but it’s all through the medical service.”

 

“Interesting. So how did you decide to become a Viv, Chris?”

 

Tropio shrugged. “I wanted to be a doctor. But I had no money for school and I didn’t rate a scholarship. So I figured Imperial service might be a way around. Put in my twenty years and then use my benefits to go back to school. I’m a little over halfway there. Picking up a lot of good experience, too.”

 

“But surely you haven’t had to treat many wounded men. I mean there’s no war—or wasn’t until now.”

 

“There are always training accidents. And a few years ago we were in that big fire in Vorkosigan District and…”

 

“You were there? So was I!” exclaimed Anny.

 

“With all the cadets, sure. We heard about that, although my unit was way down at the other end of the line. Plenty of injuries to treat there. Almost like a combat zone, I guess.”

 

“Well, hopefully you won’t be kept too busy on this deployment. Nobody seems to know just how much fighting we’ll run into. There might not be any at all.”

 

“You sound disappointed at the possibility. I’ve heard you’ve already seen combat yourself, Anny. You eager for more?”

 

“I’m a soldier; it’s what I do,” she answered. Then her thoughts went back to those hours on Dounby. “I don’t know. It was scary and we lost a lot of men, but still… it was… I wouldn’t have wanted to miss it.”

 

“Not eager for combat, but eager to be allowed to do the job you’ve trained for. Yeah, I guess I can understand that. I hate seeing men all torn up and in pain, but if they didn’t go out and get themselves all torn up I’d have no reason for being here, either. It’s a strange thing, isn’t it? Did you always want to be a soldier, Anny?”

 

“I… guess so. I’m not sure, really. My father was a 20-year man and I wasn’t born until after he retired. My older brother, Peter, he was always army-mad and everyone expected him to follow in our father’s footsteps. Da had come from a long line of men who had served. He’d tell these great stories about his time with the fleet—he was an assault trooper, too. Peter and him would play army in the woods and sometimes they let me play with them. But then Peter was killed…”

 

“How?”

 

“Logging accident. He had an after-school job and one day a load of logs fell on him.”

 

“I’m sorry. Up in those mountains you’d be a long way from any emergency medical care.”

 

Anny nodded. She could still feel the shock and pain. “It killed my da. He just couldn’t handle it. He died less than a year afterwards.”

 

“So you took your brother’s place.” Tropio was staring at her intently.

 

“I promised my da I would. He didn’t believe me, of course, but it made him smile. It was the first time he’d smiled since Peter died. And the last time, too.”

 

“So you made an impossible promise. One that you couldn’t possibly keep. But you kept it anyway, even though it was impossible.”

 

“I… I had a lot of help. I never would have even had the chance without Countess Vorkosigan’s help.”

 

“Somehow I doubt she sought you out, Anny.”

 

“Well, no, but…”

 

“You’ve got grit. Should have known you would—you’d never have made it here without it.”

 

“Sounds like you and your girls have a fair share of grit, too, Chris.”

 

“Hell, yes. You could use the lot of us for sandpaper.”

 

Anny laughed. “I think it’s going to be fun having you around.”

 

“Well, fun or not, I’m gonna be here with you for the next four months. No telling where they’ll send us once we get where we’re going, but until then we’re roommates.” Tropio stuck out her hand. They had already shaken hands when they first met, but Anny took the hand and shook it again.

 

Before either of them could say anything else, an announcement came over the intercom: “Attention! All 1st Battalion officers report to the briefing room. D-Deck, compartment D-02. Repeat: All…”

 

Anny popped to her feet. “Gotta go! See you later, Chris.”

 

“Okay,” replied the woman. “Still got some unpacking to do and I need to check on my girls. Oh, and we’re gonna have to talk about this dog-robber of yours, too. I know you gotta pay him, but if he’s gonna be doing chores for me, too, then I ought to chip in.”

 

Anny went out into the corridor and saw that it was filled with officers heading forward. At the end of the corridor there was a large compartment with tables and chairs and even viewports looking out. The attack transports were designed to be able to keep a fighting force in good condition even after extended periods in space. So even though the men were crammed together in their berthing spaces, there were a number of larger compartments where men could gather in more comfort. One deck below this officer’s briefing room there was an even bigger space where the troops could exercise or relax. Anny found a seat and was pleased when Patric sat on one side of her and Sven Estaban on the other.

 

“How are you doing, guys?” she asked. “All settled in?”

 

“Nearly,” replied Patric.

 

“Yeah, and have you heard? There are _women_ on this ship!” said Estaban, grinning.

 

“What? No way!” said Anny, grinning back at him. “You must have been seeing things!”

 

“Well, I haven’t actually seen any myself, but I have it from a reliable source. Nurses or something.”

 

“Really?” said Patric. “Maybe I’ll go stub my toe and check things out for myself.”

 

“Actually, I’m bunking with one of them. Seems nice.”

 

“Oh, ho!” crowed Estaban. “Introduce me to her will you?”

 

“She might be a bit old for you, Sven…”

 

“I like older women! Is she pretty?”

 

Anny was saved having to answer that when Major Vorglanov came into the room. Everyone shut up and jumped to their feet. Vorglanov went to a podium at the front of the room; he had a small smile on his face. He’d been looking pleased with himself, Anny thought, ever since his promotion to major. There had been a whole wave of promotions in the regiment in preparation for the expedition. Most of them were long overdue. And a number of new officers had transferred in, as well. With this the first chance for real combat in many years, anyone with any ambition wanted to be part of it. If they had influence, they pulled whatever strings they had. And apparently the high command had felt that with replacements a four-month trip away, it would be sensible to send some extra officers along. As a result, the 61st (and presumably the other regiments) were now actually over-strength. There were a half-dozen new faces among the battalion’s officers, in addition to Patric Mederov. One of them, an Ensign Vorstuban, had been assigned to C Company. He’d graduated with her class from the Academy, but she didn’t really know him. _And he wasn’t on the assault trooper track with us. How’d he manage to get here?_

 

“Good evening, everyone, sit down please,” said Vorglanov. “Quite a day, eh? I know everyone’s tired, so I won’t keep you long. I just wanted to reiterate some of things I said dirtside, now that you’ve had a chance to see the ship. We’ve got quite a challenge facing us. And I’m not talking about what’s waiting for us at Nova Paveo! I’m talking about what’s facing us right here on this ship! We’ve got a four month trip ahead of us with only three or four scheduled chances for shore leave. The men are going to get edgy and bored and unless we officers do our jobs to maintain discipline and keep their fighting edge, we’ll be delivering a dispirited mob instead of a battalion of Imperial soldiers. We _will_ do our jobs, gentlemen!” Vorglanov stared at them with a stern expression. “Now, most of you have spent time with the fleet before, so this isn’t new. You already know a lot of the tricks to keep the men happy and focused. But this is a longer trip than normal and at the end of it we’ll be going into combat instead of returning home. Frankly, we don’t have much experience in a mission of this type so we have to expect surprises to pop up.

 

“One thing that will add some interesting challenges and opportunities is the multi-national nature of this venture. Over the next few weeks we will be rendezvousing with the other contingents of the expedition. I’ve been informed that once that is complete we will be having some joint exercises with the other forces. In addition to that, we will be having ‘social’ contacts with our counterparts. I’m not entirely sure just what that will entail, but I’ll pass along any information when I get it. But in the meantime we will train the men and keep them busy. Obviously the facilities on the ship are limited and we will have to rotate the men through them and that will mean an around-the-clock duty schedule which will be posted shortly. Questions?”

 

“Uh, yes sir,” said Captain Harris of B Company. “When can we expect to get some tactical briefings about our mission on Nova Paveo?”

 

Vorglanov snorted. “Good question! I wish I had an answer. All I’ve been told is that we will be briefed at some point. I suspect that it won’t be until the last minute. And I guess I can’t really blame the generals for that. Any information we have is months out of date and will be even more out of date as time goes by. Our mission may have to be completely re-written once we get there and see what the situation really is. Brigadier Sylvanus has informed us that we will be getting a thorough briefing on the planet itself, its geography, climate and inhabitants, but tactical briefings are going to have to wait. Not the best situation, I know, but there it is”

 

Vorglanov looked to be about to dismiss them when he paused. “Oh yes, one more thing: we have a hospital company attached to us and as I’m sure most of you have already heard, there are some female technicians among them. Gentlemen! There will be no… how do I put this…?” Vorglanov paused.

 

 _He’s going to say it. I just know he’s going to say it…_ thought Anny.

 

“Shenanigans,” said Vorglanov. Anny groaned softly. “Yes, that’s the word: _shenanigans_. There will be no shenanigans, gentlemen. No fraternization between these women and the men. Those orders come right from the top. Those women will be treated with the utmost respect. Remind your men that at some point in future those women may be literally holding their lives in their hands. They are professional medical personnel, as highly skilled in their fields as any of us are in ours. No inappropriate behavior will be tolerated. If any issues arise—any issues at all concerning those women—you will report them to…” Vorglanov hesitated and his eyes scanned over the assembled officers.

 

_Oh shit…_

 

“Lieutenant Payne,” the inevitable words came out of his mouth and Anny winced. “Yes, Lieutenant Payne will be our liaison with the female medical technicians.” He focused on her. “Payne, you will see to it that no trouble arises, understood?”

 

Anny stifled the exasperated sigh that was struggling to get out and simply said: “Yes, sir. I understand.”

 

 

**Chapter 14**

 

_D_ _ear Abbie,_

_I think I read somewhere that someone described traveling by ship as having all the boredom and confinement of being in a prison with none of the safety. I’m coming to believe that he was right! I’ve never considered myself an outdoors person, but right now I’d give half my inheritance for an hour’s stroll in the woods. And I’m really coming to hate wormhole jumps! Some serious Bulkhead Fever here._

Alby Vorsworth leaned back in his chair and sighed. They were only three weeks on their way and he was ready to scream. And he wasn’t even sure why. The training cruise in his senior year had lasted almost six months and it hadn’t bothered him the way this was. Of course he wasn’t being kept quite so busy this time. On the training cruise he’d been a probationary ‘ensign junior grade’ and that meant that he was given every scut job that the real officers didn’t want to do. This time he was a lieutenant on the regimental staff. Not that Colonel Fetherbay and his senior staff didn’t find plenty for Alby to do! But still, they couldn’t find enough to keep him busy for every waking hour, even in a shrunken standard 24-hour day.

 

Barrayar’s day was 26.7 hours and that was the one Alby was used to. But the other two planets in the Empire had different length days and the planets of the Nexus had an enormous variety, with days lasting from a few hours to a few months. When within the Empire, ships’ ‘days’ were adjusted to match that of the planet they were operating near, but when traveling the Nexus the ships operated on the 24-hour day of Old Earth. Nearly everyone followed that convention and clocks on ships all over the nexus were synchronized with the moment of midnight in a small town on a small island on a planet that few had ever visited. It was all for safety reasons, of course; when ships had to make maneuvers timed to the split second it made sense to make sure everyone was using the same second!

 

Alby leaned forward and resumed typing. _How are things going with you? Only a few more months and you’ll be a senior! Top of the heap! How are things working out with the new Commandant? I’ve heard a few rumors that he’s not quite so friendly toward you girls as Sylvanus was. Did I mention in my last letter that he’s now our brigade commander? I see him fairly often at staff meetings. I have to say that being on the flagship is a mixed blessing. I guess I know more about what’s going on than most people, but I sure miss seeing Anny and Jer and Patric. And I miss you, too, girl! I just hope…_

 

Alby heard the door slide open and he banished his letter from the screen. “You ready to go, Vorsworth—shit! You aren’t even dressed!” Alby spun around and saw Lieutenant Nate Gilchrist, his roommate, standing in the doorway—in his dress greens. He hurriedly checked the time.

 

“What’s the rush?” he asked, puzzled. “That reception doesn’t start for over an hour.”

 

“We still have to get over there! The shuttle is leaving in five minutes!”

 

“What? You mean it isn’t _here_?” Alby lurched out of his chair.

 

“Alby, you idiot!” snapped Gilchrist. “Didn’t you read the orders? The reception is on the Cetagandan flagship!”

 

“Oh crap!” Alby started frantically dragging out his dress greens with one hand and trying to undo the fasteners on his black fatigues with the other.

 

“No time to change here!” cried Gilchrist. “Bring your stuff and you can change on the shuttle!” He scooped up Alby’s boots and belt. “Come on!”

 

 _Shit! Shit! Shit!_ moaned Alby to himself as he followed Gilchrist through the labyrinthine corridors of the _Prince Serg._ The ship was enormous and it was a long run to the shuttles. When she had been launched, before Alby was even born, she was arguably the most powerful warship in the human galaxy. There were a few others in various fleets (including Barrayar’s) that might claim that title now, but the venerable _Serg_ was still the pride of the Barrayaran fleet. She’d been designed as a flagship from the start and the accommodations for staffs and various hangers-on were extensive. The expedition commander, Admiral Lord Vorburke, had decided that he wanted all the senior officers, both for the fleet and the ground forces, aboard the _Serg_ during the long voyage to Nova Paveo for ease of communications and consultation. Alby could tell that Colonel Fetherbay would have preferred to stay closer to his troops, but since the regiment was spread out on three different transports anyway, this was an acceptable compromise.

 

He and Gilchrist clattered down a companionway to the deck holding the hanger bays for the shuttles. There was a crowd of people waiting there, preparing to board a pair of shuttles. “Thank God all the senior officers and the civilians are on their own shuttle,” hissed Gilchrist. “All the junior staff are on that other one. Come on, and try to not look conspicuous!” They gave all the big brass as wide a berth as possible and slipped into the crowd of junior officers just as the shuttle’s hatch hissed open. Alby tried to sneak aboard quickly, but there was a crunch at the hatch and he was forced to wait. He felt incredibly conspicuous in his black fatigues. He glanced toward the other shuttle and Fetherbay was staring at him. Brigadier Sylvanus was standing right next to him and his eyes turned in Alby’s direction, too. Sylvanus made some comment and Fetherbay grimaced. _Great._ The clog cleared out and Alby made it aboard.

 

Immediately the other officers began making comments about his dress. Those who actually knew him well made jokes at his expense, but he just smiled and gave back as good as he got. Well, nearly. He was clearly on the defensive here.

 

“Hey Alby, sleeping on the job again?”

 

“Your clock still set on Barrayaran time?”

 

“Nah,” said Gilchrist. “He was writing love letters to his girlfriend.” The other laughed and Alby blushed.

 

“Hey, at least I’ve _got_ one!” he replied. This drew more laughs and groans. He shucked off his fatigues and pulled on his dress greens as quickly as he could. For a moment he panicked when he couldn’t find his cap, but then Gilchrist handed it to him. At least he didn’t have to worry about the stupid sword. Standing orders were for no swords aboard ship—and the Cetagandans probably wouldn’t appreciate a bunch of sword-armed Barrayarans on their flagship. He pulled his tunic into place and brushed his hand against his medals to make sure they were straight and then surveyed the sets of eyes still focused on him. There wasn’t another man aboard, even the captains, who could boast two wound medals and the Distinguished Service Star that he wore. The Infantry Combat Badge and the Assault Landing Badge with one star were pretty much unique, too. He was a combat veteran, damn it! So let the others laugh. He took the seat next to Gilchrist just as the shuttle moved out of the hanger bay.

 

“So why’s this circus being held on the Cetagandan flagship?” asked Alby.

 

“I don’t know,” admitted Gilchrist. “But they were the last task force to join up with us. I guess they want to play host.”

 

“Probably just want to show off.”

 

“Yeah, that, too. Ever met a Ceta?”

 

Alby thought back. “Nope. Don’t think so.”

 

“You’d remember if you had. I have, twice. On my first shipboard tour, oh, almost five years ago now. Bumped into them on a couple of shore leaves. Worst bunch of stuck-up bastards I ever met.”

 

“How jolly. So what are they dragging us along for? A batch of lieutenants and junior captains? I’d have thought this would just be for the big brass.”

 

“Dunno. But it ought to be interesting.”

 

“But they aren’t bringing all the staffs,” persisted Alby. “There are what? Thirty of us here? Between the expedition HQ, the Fleet HQ, the two brigade HQs and the four regimental HQs we’ve got about a battalion’s worth of staff lackeys—most of whom outrank us. Why’d we get the honor?”

 

“Like I said, I don’t know. Just lucky I guess. Now shut up, it’s a thirty minute trip and I’m gonna take a nap.” Gilchrist slumped down in his seat and closed his eyes.

 

Alby frowned in envy. Gilchrist was one of those lucky ones who could fall asleep anywhere, anytime, and wake instantly, fully alert. Alby stared out the ‘port for a while, catching a brief glimpse of the rapidly dwindling _Prince Serg_ and then, for lack of anything better to do, he pulled out his computer pad and called up the information that was available on the Cetagandan task force. There wasn’t a lot. A list of ships and the military units they were carrying, short bios on the senior officers, synopses on Cetagandan military procedures and tactics. The only thing that really caught his eye were the specs on the Cetaganda flagship, the _Celestial Tiger_. It was enormous, even bigger than the _Serg._ Newer, too; the navy only had guesstimates about its armament and capabilities. Alby was certain that there were Barrayaran sensor officers trying to get a look past the Ceta’s shields to fill in some of those blanks at this very moment. Some of the naval officers aboard this shuttle probably had orders to do as much sightseeing as they could once aboard, too.

 

“My God! Would you _look_ at that thing!” An exclamation from up forward jogged Alby out of his musings. He followed the turned heads of the other passengers and looked out the ‘port. Ah, the very subject of his study had come into view.

 

Barrayaran warships were all sharp angles, deliberately reminiscent of swords and spears and battle axes. They looked fast and dangerous. Cetagandan warships were… different. They were built all in sweeping curves, almost… organic in shape. Like some rare and exotic orchids that had been bred for space travel. As with everything the Cetas did, they were elegant. Beautiful, even. Still dangerous, though; somehow you knew they were dangerous despite their beauty.

 

And the _Celestial Tiger_ was indeed beautiful. It was painted—did the Cetas use anything so crude as paint?—all in blues. From deep midnight blues that almost vanished into the background blackness, to delicate arctic blues that reminded Alby of the snow at Fort Vorolson. He stared at it in wonder…

 

“Yeah, but can it _fight_?” growled one of the other officers. That brought forth laughter and the spell was broken. That was the real question, after all, wasn’t it? Alby imagined that despite its beauty the ship could still be torn to bits if a gravitic imploder lance got past its defenses.

 

There seemed to be a number of other shuttles converging on the ship’s docking bays and they had to wait. The naval officers aboard spent the time speculating whether this lump or that bump was a weapons mount or a shield emitter; Alby just enjoyed the show. Finally, it was their turn to dock and the shuttle slid into a cradle in the hanger bay.

 

As they debarked, Alby noticed the other shuttle from the _Serg_ a few dozen meters away in another cradle. The last of its passengers were just unloading. He and all the other junior officers headed that way and reattached themselves to their commanders. Fetherbay raised an eyebrow when he saw him. “Everything in order now, Lieutenant?”

 

“Yes sir. Sorry about that.”

 

“Try to stay out of trouble, will you?”

 

“I’ll do my best sir.” Fetherbay’s expression seemed to say that he wasn’t sure if Alby’s best would be good enough. But he didn’t say anything else and turned away.

 

Alby looked back at the shuttle and started in surprise. He hadn’t been able to get a good look at the ‘hanger bay’ on the way in and now that he did, he gasped. There wasn’t really any bay at all. The place looked as though it was open to the vacuum of space. Only the faint shimmer of force screens showed what was keeping the air in. As he watched, the shuttles were pushed through the screen on their cradles and then flew off. Two new shuttles were lining up in the distance to make their own approach. And in the other direction the ‘bay’ connected with an enormous open space, crowded with people.

 

“Damnation,” whispered Gilchrist beside him. “I sure hope those force fields don’t fail!”

 

“You were right,” replied Alby. “They are a bunch of show-offs. It’s impressive, but I’ll take good solid metal bulkheads any day!”

 

“That’s for sure! But look at this place! It’s as big as Emperor Ezar’s Hall at the Academy! Mostly open space, too! How can they give over this much volume to some damn reception hall—on a warship!”

 

“I’m thinking that the _Celestial Tiger_ ought to be named the _Paper Tiger_ ,” said Alby. “Just a hollow shell. All show and no substance.”

 

“Well, not _all_ show,” said a navy lieutenant who had overheard them. “There’s still enough ship left for a lot of other stuff. But, you are right that this thing can’t be near as powerful as she looks from the outside. I bet the old _Serg_ could take her in a fight.”

 

“Let’s hope we don’t have to find out,” said Alby. “Which way to the food?”

 

“Not sure if we’re supposed to… oh, okay, here we go,” said Gilchrist. A batch of Cetagandans in their blood-red dress uniforms had appeared to escort the Barrayaran contingent. The officers had the full, traditional face paint of the ghem class. The swirling patterns, which held some significance Alby didn’t understand, made it very difficult to read the expressions on their faces. The enlisted men only wore a painted glyph of some sort, a unit designation, he supposed, on one cheek, but their expressions were nearly blank, just an understandable caution in the presence of dangerous former enemies and dubious current allies.

 

There was an exchange between the escort commander and Admiral Vorburke and Ambassador Vorpinski that Alby couldn’t overhear and then the whole gaggle headed off to join the others in the enormous open space ahead of them. It really was an absurdly ostentatious thing to have on a warship. A transparent domed ceiling soared overhead showing a vast starscape. Walkways curved through formal gardens (did the Cetas have any other kind?) linking larger platforms on different levels. It was really quite lovely. Thinking back to his interrupted letter to Abbie, he felt that this was almost as good as the walk in the woods he’d been wishing for. Hundreds of other guests from the expedition, most dressed in an eye-bewildering array of military uniforms, moved about, tended by nearly an equal number of servants. The space wasn’t as large as it had seemed at first, there were some clever architectural touches to make it seem bigger, but still…

 

The Barrayarans were escorted to one of the platforms and asked to wait there. Apparently there was going to be some sort of formal welcoming ceremony as soon as the last contingent was in place—and they were just arriving now. Servants appeared bearing drinks and Alby snagged one. The crystal glass contained a clear golden liquid that he sniffed and then sipped. “What’s that?” asked Gilchrist who was eyeing his own glass of ruby-red.

 

“Not sure,” replied Alby. “Wine, I guess. Not much kick to it.”

 

“Well, go easy. I don’t want to have to carry you home.”

 

“You know me.”

 

“Yeah, exactly!” Alby smirked at that. Gilchrist was senior to him but he was all right. He’d gotten to know the man at HQ before they left and now that they were rooming together they were becoming friends… sort of.

 

“Okay, okay, I’ll… holy shit! Will you look at _her_!”

 

“What…? Oh my God…”

 

A party of Cetagandans was moving along a walkway just in front of them. There were a number of officers in the red uniforms, but in the center of the group were a man and a woman, wearing flowing, multi-layered robes rather than uniforms. The man had his face painted in the most elaborate patterns Alby had yet seen. The man was probably someone important, but Alby only had eyes for the woman. She was tall, and even though the walkway she was on had to be at least two meters below his own platform, it still seemed like he was looking up at her. She had an impossible cascade of space-black hair that tumbled down her shoulders and her back to trail on the floor. Her face… her face was incredible. He couldn’t even begin to describe it, but it was the most stunningly beautiful face he’d ever seen. Ageless, like some immortal fairy queen. Young as spring, ancient as winter… Alby suddenly gasped for the breath he had been holding.

 

“One of the haut women,” said Gilchrist.

 

“Has to be,” whispered Alby in agreement.

 

“Close your mouth, you’re drooling.”

 

“No I’m not…! _Damn_!” Alby ran his hand over his mouth.

 

The Cetagandans stopped on a platform in the center of the chamber and the man made some sort of speech welcoming the guests and praising this unprecedented act of galactic cooperation, but Alby scarcely heard him. He couldn’t take his eyes off the woman. He’d heard about them, even seen some vids of them, but they hadn’t prepared him for the reality of them. The Cetagandan haut women were the stuff of legends.

 

The social structure of the Cetagandan Empire was very complex and only partially understood by outsiders. At the top were the haut. These were a relatively small group of genetically engineered men and women who ruled the Empire. The exact nature of their gengineering was a closely guarded secret although it obviously had produced at least one incredibly beautiful woman. Supposedly all the haut women were like that. What else their efforts might have wrought was less obvious. Long-life, yes, the emperors and empresses for whom dates of birth and death were known indicated life spans well over a hundred and fifty years, but that wasn’t all that unusual among the other galactics. But as far as anyone knew there were no real supermen being produced. No immensely strong, immensely smart, telepathic super mutant hauts had ever been encountered. What, exactly, the haut were up to with their genetic manipulations was a mystery.

 

The other question was how the hauts maintained control over their subjects. Next on the ladder were the ghem. Alby’s galactic sociology teacher at the Academy, a Polian named Glickman, had once likened the ghem to the Barrayaran Vor class. That had nearly caused a riot in the classroom and by the next semester Professor Glickman had left. But as insulting as it might seem to a Barrayaran, Alby had to admit that the comparison wasn’t that outrageous. The ghem filled nearly all the officer ranks in the Cetagandan military and the upper ranks of the civil administration as well, much as the Vor had once done on Barrayar. No one was really certain if, or to what extent, the ghem’s genes might have been tinkered with, but again, nothing extraordinary had ever been encountered. But it was clear that while the haut ruled, it was the ghem who actually ran the Empire and kept control of the working classes who vastly outnumbered both the haut and the ghem combined.

 

The ghem ruled the lower classes through force and the threat of force, but why the ghem submitted to the haut was another mystery. There were far more of the ghem and they were in command of the military and the civil government.

 

_Or maybe it’s not that much of a mystery!_

 

Alby continued to stare at the haut woman. The man she was standing next to must be the ghem-ambassador to the expedition and she was his wife. A wife awarded to him for his service—and to ensure his continuing service. To be given a haut wife was just about the highest honor a ghem could receive. There was also the rumor that the haut controlled a horrifically powerful arsenal of biological weapons to keep the ghem in line, but from what he was seeing, Alby speculated that the carrots were probably far more effective than any stick.

 

“Oh to be a successful ghem!” he sighed.

 

“You’re not kidding,” agreed Gilchrist.

 

But the welcoming speech was over and sadly the ambassador and his wife moved away. Alby was half-tempted to follow to try and get a better look, but he restrained himself. This was ridiculous! She was just a woman, no matter how beautiful. And she belonged to someone else. He shook himself, half drained his glass, and looked around for food.

 

This was quickly found, provided by another swarm of servants with trays. Tiny canapés and hors d’oeuvres and little sandwiches, each one a work of art that it was almost a shame to eat. Almost. Alby gulped them down by the handful. The chow on his ship wasn’t bad, but this was amazing.

 

Once the immediate threat of starvation was averted, he and Gilchrist began to mingle with the other guests. They were nearly all military men—oops! Wait a minute, not all of them were men. Looking closely he saw that a fair proportion of the officers here were, in fact women. Sexually mixed militaries were, by far, the rule in the Nexus. Barrayar and Cetaganda were two of the notable exceptions. _Wow, it’s a shame Anny isn’t here! I wonder what she would think of this?_ He puzzled over the ranks worn on the confusing array of different uniforms, but it was clear that at least some of the women were senior officers. He smiled, visualizing Anny someday in a general’s uniform. If anyone could make it happen, she could.

 

He was able to identify the contingents from Escobar and Pol and Vervain without any difficulty, but some of the others defeated him. Well, the Earth contingent was easy to spot simply because the variety of uniforms from its nation-states was by far the greatest in any other grouping.

 

“It’s _kilt_ , mon!” cried one of them suddenly. “Not a bloody sarong! A kilt!”

 

“Glad he clarified that,” said Gilchrist. “I would have taken him for a Betan, too.”

 

“I’ve never seen any Betan with a set of whiskers like those,” said Alby.

 

“True.”

 

Alby chatted with a few of the friendlier looking officers. Most of them seemed quite excited by the prospect of some combat on Novo Paveo. After a bit he noticed a cute female officer who wasn’t talking to anyone else at the moment. He walked over and said: “Hi.”

 

“Hi yourself,” she replied, looking him up and down. “Barrayaran?”

 

“Yes. And you’re from Earth?”

 

“Canada.”

 

“That’s part of Earth, right?”

 

“Last I checked, yes.”

 

“Alby Vorsworth, here.” He extended his hand.

 

“Izabella Cresswell-Jones.” She took his hand and shook it. “Enjoying the circus?”

 

“Oh yes. When do they bring on the dancing bear and the jugglers?”

 

The woman laughed and her voice had a nice musical quality to it. “They really are sort of overdoing it, aren’t they? The Cetas, I mean.”

 

“That’s always been their style, I guess.”

 

“That’s right, you Barrayarans have had a closer look at them than most people, haven’t you?”

 

“I guess. It’s all sort of ancient history to most of us, though. The Occupation, I mean. My grandfather fought them, but I don’t think the current generation has the sort of hatred for them that his generation did.”

 

“So you don’t have a problem working with them?”

 

Alby shrugged. “All you Earthers have fought each other at one point or another, haven’t you? It sure seemed that way in the one history course I took. And yet you’re all working together now.”

 

“True,” said the woman, shrugging in turn. “But most of our wars really are ancient history, not just two generations removed.”

 

“I’m on the staff of an infantry regiment. You?”

 

“Junior intelligence officer for our naval squadron.”

 

“Ah, then we’re not likely to cross paths. Pity.”

 

“Our paths crossed here,” she said, smiling. “So who knows?”

 

“That’s true,” said Alby, smiling back. “Maybe we can…”

 

“Hey Alby.” He looked over his shoulder and there was Gilchrist.

 

“What?” he said, trying not frown. _Find your own, dammit!_

 

“Colonel wants us. Now.”

 

“Drat.” He looked back at Cresswell-Jones. “Sorry, gotta go.”

 

“Duty calls. But I’m aboard the _Toronto_ , give me a call if you have the time.”

 

“I certainly will. See you.” He reluctantly turned away and followed Gilchrist.

 

“I thought you _had_ a girlfriend.”

 

“Just being friendly. What’s the Old Man want?”

 

“You’ll see.”

 

“That means you know something. Come on, Nate, spill it!”

 

“You’ll see. Be patient.”

 

Alby had no choice but to follow along as Gilchrist wove his way through the throngs of officers and servants. Eventually they reached a platform that wasn’t quite so crowded. Colonel Fetherbay was waiting there, but so was Brigadier Sylvanus and General Vordanov, the overall ground forces commander, a man he recognized as Ambassador Vorpinski, several Cetagandans and… and…

 

“Major Vorpatril,” he blurted out. Sure enough, his father’s aide from before he retired was standing there. But he was in civilian clothes and had a striking woman on his arm who looked strangely familiar.

 

“Not ‘major’ anymore, Lieutenant,” said Vorpatril with a smile. “Finished my twenty years about six months ago.”

 

“He’s just Lord Ivan Xav now,” said the woman. “Deputy Counsel Lord Ivan Xav to be exact.”

 

“Oh, I see,” said Alby. “Uh, congratulations, sir.”

 

“Thanks. And this is my wife, Tej. Tej, this is Alby Vorsworth, the General’s son. I think you might have seen him at Vorkosigan House once or twice.”

 

“Oh, of course. How is your father these days, Alby?” asked the woman.

 

Yes, that’s where he’d seen her before. “Uh, actually, not so good, I’m afraid. He’s not handling retirement too well.”

 

“Oh dear, sorry to hear that.”

 

Alby shrugged, but before he could think of a reply, Ambassador Vorpinski broke in. “Gentlemen, ladies, as Ghem-Ambassador Driden said a short while ago, this expedition is an unprecedented experiment in galactic cooperation. One aspect of that cooperation that has not been widely talked about—at least on Barrayar—is the agreement for an officer-exchange program.”

 

 _Officer exchange!_ thought Alby in shock. _Omigod, they aren’t planning to send me off somewhere…?_

“This will not only allow the forces of the expedition to work together more efficiently as we learn each other’s operating procedures,” continued Vorpinski, “but it will foster a sense of camaraderie among the troops. We have all agreed that this is a good thing.”

 

_Why didn’t they warn me? But wait, Nate certainly knows something! Maybe they aren’t…_

 

“We will be sending off a half-dozen of our young officers to some of the other contingents. Lieutenant Gilchrist has graciously volunteered to spend some time with our Cetagandan allies. “Thank you, Lieutenant!” Vorpinski nodded at Gilchrist.

 

“My pleasure, sir. I look forward to the opportunity.”

 

_Nate, you rat! Why didn’t you tell me? But then what am I doing here?_

 

At Vorpinski’s gesture, the Cetagandans stepped forward. One was a general, if Alby was reading the complicated rank insignia correctly. The other was the equivalent of a major. The third was much younger and just a lieutenant—or something.

 

“Ghem-General Olan, may I present Lieutenant Nathaniel Gilchrist of the 61st Imperial Infantry.” Gilchrist came to attention and saluted crisply.

 

The Cetagandan simply nodded in return. “Welcome to my staff, Lieutenant. I hope that you will find the experience… interesting.”

 

“I’m sure I will, sir.”

 

“Ghem-Force-Leader Jenow will acquaint you with your duties.” Olan indicated the mid-ranking officer. “And now, in exchange I present you with Platoon-Chief Benin. He is a son of the head of security of the Celestial Garden itself. I trust you will take good care of him.” The young Cetagandan stepped up, clicked his heels together and bowed stiffly to Vorpinski.

 

“Ah, yes,” said Vorpinski. “Welcome Platoon-Chief, your father’s reputation is well-known. We have given some thought as to who should be your… host while you are with us.” He glanced toward Alby.

 

_Oh God, no…_

 

“This is Lieutenant Albustus Vorsworth. He comes from a long line of exceptional officers. His father was head of our Operations Center until he retired just recently.”

 

“The Vorsworths are known to us,” said Olan. “This is acceptable.”

 

“Excellent,” said Vorpinski. “Lieutenant, say hello to your new roommate.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Ivan grinned at the look on Vorsworth’s face. The young man looked completely gobsmacked, but managed to stammer out some sort of reply. His colonel took charge of him and Benin and moved off with them. The exchange ceremony was over so Ivan took Tej’s arm and headed away in search of a few more of those incredible little canapés they’d been serving. “Having fun?” he asked Tej.

 

“Oh yes,” she replied, “This is simply amazing. I begin to see why my grandmother was so annoyed at being sent away from the Celestial Garden.”

 

“Yeah, I guess Barrayar, Komarr, and even Earth probably seemed a bit drab in comparison.” As improbable as it seemed, Tej’s grandmother was one of the haut women. _My children will have haut blood in them…_

 

“You’ve actually seen some of the Celestial Garden, how does this compare?”

 

“That was almost twenty years ago, Tej. Miles saw a lot more of it than I did and I was… distracted a lot. But yeah, this brings back a few memories.” _Hell of a thing to stick on a warship, though!_

 

“You said that you’ve met that young officer’s father?”

 

“Briefly. He was just a colonel then, although as a result of Miles’ little adventure he was promoted to general.”

 

“How about his mother?”

 

“No, never met her. And I gather that this kid’s mother is one of Dag’s first wives. He’s since been awarded a haut-lady and has been cranking out a few new sons. This poor sod is just an also-ran now, I’d wager.”

 

“Oh dear. Do you suppose that angers him?”

 

“Hard to say. The whole Cetagandan class system is so confusing. His father’s status is elevated by the haut-wife, which will elevate his status, too, but he’ll always be junior to these new sons. Or so I guess.” He spotted a servant with a full tray and snagged a few of the treats it bore and handed one to Tej.

 

They walked for a bit, taking in the kaleidoscope display of uniforms. It still felt strange to not be wearing one himself.

 

“Do you miss it, Ivan Xav?” asked Tej.

 

“Miss what?”

 

“Being a soldier?”

 

“Of course not!”

 

“Yes you do. I can tell by the way you look at the other officers. The way you keep almost saluting generals and such.”

 

“Well, maybe a little. Twenty years of habit doesn’t get erased overnight. But I’m still happy to be done with it all, at last.”

 

“Good. But this is quite an amazing display. I never dreamed there could be so many different uniforms! It’s like some sort of martial fashion show!”

 

“Yeah,” chuckled Ivan. “Half of these I have no clue…” he paused, catching sight of one uniform he _did_ recognize. _Well, well, well…_ He headed in the direction of a batch of officers all wearing light gray uniforms. He looked around but didn’t see any familiar faces. Maybe he was wrong…

 

“Well hello, Ivan,” said a voice from behind him. “Fancy meeting you here.”

 

He turned and there was the person he’d been looking for. A tallish woman with dark hair and a strikingly beautiful face.

 

“Oh, uh, hi, Elli,” he managed to say.

 

“It’s been a while,” said the woman.

 

“You know this… person, Ivan Xav?” asked Tej, who was frowning.

 

“Just… professionally. Tej, dear, let me introduce Admiral Elli Quinn, commander of the Dendarii Free Mercenaries.”

 

 

**Chapter 15**

 

Anny followed Captain Vorstang off the shuttle and then turned to look at Chris Tropio who was right behind her. Immediately behind Chris were the eight other women from her hospital company. All of them gazed around in wonder at the sight of their first alien world. The planet was called Lengkeek and, at first glance, it appeared pleasantly terrestrial: blue skies, white puffy clouds, green hills.

 

“Everyone got their sunblock on?” demanded Tropio of the girls. “Kara, where are your glasses?”

 

“Uh, right here…”

 

“Put them on and keep them on!”

 

“Yes, ma’am,” sighed the woman, fitting her glasses in place.

 

Lengkeek might look nice, but its atmosphere let in a much higher amount of ultra-violet radiation than was healthy for most humans. Anny, like the other women, was wearing issue sunblock that had about the same density as lead and a set of protective glasses. The locals, both humans and the imported plant and animal life, had adapted, or been adapted enough to tolerate it, but visitors needed to be careful.

 

And just at the moment, Lengkeek was seeing a hell of a lot of visitors.

 

The Fleet was a little over a month on its way to Novo Paveo and Lengkeek had been picked as the first of three stops for resupply and shore leave. They’d be staying here for ten days to let all the personnel rotate down for some R&R. A third of them had already come and gone and now it was the turn of the Barrayarans and a few smaller contingents. There were a dozen shuttles sitting on the pads of the small space port, disgorging people, and Anny knew that there were plenty more waiting to come down. She could see crowds of people in uniform from the last wave wandering toward the town of Stiversville in the distance. From what she’d heard, Lengkeek was bending over backwards to accommodate the influx. It was a small-population planet without a lot of industry or exports and the flood of off-world cash the Fleet would bring would be a bonanza. Mobs of locals had descended on Stiversville to greet the potential pigeons… er, customers.

 

“Lieutenant Payne,” said Vorstang.

 

“Yes sir?”

 

“Are you going to be all right with your… charges?”

 

“I think so, sir. Shouldn’t be a problem.”

 

“All right then, I will leave you to it. Have fun, but stay out of trouble.”

 

“Of course, sir. Enjoy your shore leave, Captain.” Vorstang nodded and moved off into the crowd. Anny watched him for a moment and then turned to face Tropio.

 

“So, what would you like to do? We’ve got two days.”

 

“You mean now that Ol’ Iron Britches is gone?” asked Tropio with a grin.

 

“Vorstang’s okay. He just doesn’t like things that upset his routine.”

 

“Then how does he manage to deal with you?”

 

“He’s still working on that. But I ask again: what would you like to do?”

 

“Well, the first thing is for you to find Jer! I want to meet this guy—and you’ve been kept apart way too long.”

 

“It hasn’t been that long,” protested Anny, although it seemed like forever.

 

“Yeah, right! You were making love to him in your sleep last night—again.” The other women laughed but Anny blushed furiously.

 

“Sorry…”

 

“Patric will be with him won’t he?” asked one of the other women, a medtech named Lyra Gundsen. Lyra and Patric had been making eyes at each for a few weeks, Anny had noticed. And they weren’t the only pair.

 

“And Sven Estaban?” asked another.

 

“And I want to meet that Alby Vorsworth you keep talking about—he sounds like fun!”

 

Anny looked at the women in consternation. “What am I running here, a dating service?”

 

“Just lead us to them! We’ll handle it from there!” exclaimed Terri Burt and everyone laughed. Even Anny.

 

“All right! All right! The message I got from Jer said his battalion landed about an hour ago. He says there is some sort of tall monument or temple in the main square of the town. He and the others will be waiting for us there.”

 

“So let’s go!”

 

“Lead on, Lieutenant!”

 

Smiling, Anny headed in the direction that everyone else seemed to be going. Through some tree-like things, she thought she could see a large structure rearing up in the distance. That was probably where Jer was waiting. The thought of seeing him again soon set her tingling. The road leading from the landing area to the town was lined with commercial enterprises. Maybe a third of them were in permanent structures and the rest were clearly temporary tents and pavilions erected just for this off-world invasion.

 

Crowds of natives were also lining the street. The genetic manipulation that allowed the people here to handle the UV overdose gave them a skin that was almost a pure white with tinges of blue. Their hair was noticeably blue, too. The plant life was a deep purple for the most part, although other colors popped out here and there. It was pretty enough, Anny supposed, but she would have preferred green.

 

Anny stared at one of the natives and then said to Chris: “I would have thought that they’d have very dark skin. Isn’t that the usual way for dealing with harsh sunlight?”

 

“Yes, usually,” replied the medtech. “But I was reading up on these folks before we got here. Like you say, the usual response is to increase the melanin which darkens the skin color. But the UV is so high here that that just isn’t enough. They had to take a different approach. Apparently they have a layer of cells under the skin that can actually reflect the UV instead of absorbing it. That’s what gives them that white skin color.”

 

“Huh.”

 

“You can’t see it except up close, but they also have modified eyes. An inner eyelid that acts like sunglasses.” She touched the pair she was wearing.

 

“Wow, I’d heard about things like this, but it’s the first time I’ve seen it firsthand.”

 

“Yeah. And this is all pretty mundane, really, compared to some of the things humans have done to themselves to exist out among the stars. Makes you wonder just how far they can go before they stop being human anymore.”

 

The group of women moved slowly through the crowd, taking in the different sights, sounds and smells. A lot of the establishments were selling food and drink, and were doing a brisk business. Shipboard food wasn’t bad, but it did become monotonous after a while. Many of the other stands were selling handcrafted goods. Jewelry, pottery, clothing, wood carvings in some amazing colors, glasswork, all manner of beautiful object filled the shelves or the hands of the vendors, who were energetically thrusting them before the potential customers. Anny couldn’t imagine that many of the larger items would find buyers: where would they store them once back on their ship? She had room for a few things in her cabin, but the enlistedmen’s lockers were already stuffed to the brim with their gear. She wondered if the locals realized just what sort of people their visitors were?

 

_Oops, maybe they do!_

Several, well, quite a few, of the establishments were apparently selling goods that could be enjoyed on the spot and would not need to be taken back to the ships. They were not being displayed in quite as unabashed a fashion as they had been on one planet she’d visited on her apprentice cruise, but there was no doubt what was for sale. It reminded her a bit of the area around the main military shuttleport on Komarr.

 

And business seemed to be booming.

 

Lines of men in uniform were queued up outside. They were predominantly Barrayaran uniforms, but from what Anny understood, the Barrayarn forces would be the majority visitors for the next few days. There were some of the smaller contingents as well. The other big groups, like the Cetagandans, would have their own days, in fact the Cetas had already been and gone. She supposed that was partly to spare Stiversville having to host the entire expedition all at once, but mostly to keep former enemies from having to rub elbows too closely.

 

“You’d think those guys hadn’t seen a woman in a year,” tisked one of the medtechs. “It’s been, what? A month since we left home?”

 

“Who do these women prey on between passing armadas?” wondered another.

 

“Probably every one of them on the planet is here,” said Tropio. “The rest of the time they’re more spread out, I guess.”

 

“Wow, we should have brought a tent and set up shop, girls! After ten days we could all retire!”

 

The women all laughed and Anny forced herself to smile. She’d noticed that the Vivs were remarkably open when talking about sex and could make or take a dirty joke with the most ribald of the men. Their _behavior_ , as far as Anny had been able to tell, was completely above board, but she supposed it was inevitable that their talk and humor would be like this. Thinking about it objectively, she realized that she wasn’t really that much different. She had to maintain a certain level of decorum just because she was an officer, but she had to admit that some of her language and jokes would have shocked the Anny she’d been just four years earlier. _Part of the job description, I guess._

 

They made it past the bulk of the fleshpots and into the town proper. The buildings were mostly brick or covered in stucco and few were more than three or four stories high. They had balconies projecting out from the upper floors which created colonnaded walkways at street level which provided welcome shade from the bright sunlight. The ground floors were also mostly shops, but these were permanent establishments, not the temporary ones set up to serve the galactic influx. Even so, they were nearly as crowded as the pavilions by the shuttleport. Uniformed men—and a few women, Anny observed with interest—filled the stores and spilled out onto the sidewalk. She might have been tempted to investigate a few of the shops if there’d been any room to get inside.

 

It was noisy and if her wristcom hadn’t been set to vibrate she probably wouldn’t have noticed the incoming call. It was Jer.

 

“What’s keeping you, Anny?” he demanded. “We’re all waiting.”

 

“Oh, it’s slow work making our way through the crowd…”

 

“Sightseeing, huh? Well, there’s only one sight I want to see and that’s you, love! Hurry up!”

 

“Okay,” she laughed. “I can just see that big tower-building you mentioned. You guys still there?”

 

“We’re in a little park out front, under some trees. There’s a bronze monstrosity that I think is supposed to be a sculpture and we’re right next to it. You can’t miss it.”

 

“Okay, see you soon.”

 

“Jer?” asked Chris Tropio, with a grin.

 

“Yeah, he’s getting impatient.”

 

“Well, let’s not keep the poor boy waiting. Come on, girls!”

 

They picked up their pace as much as the crowds allowed and soon came to a huge open area in the town. The tall building reared up at one end and, as promised, a park occupied some of the square. There were several sculptures that could have been the monstrosity Jer had mentioned, but by the process of elimination they found the one where Jer and the others were waiting.

 

Anny found herself suddenly short of breath at the sight of her man. They collided with a small thud and her lips found his. Completely unmindful of the hoots from the other officers and women medtechs, they kissed for a good half-minute. A _very_ good half-minute, actually, despite the bitter taste of the sunblock on their lips. “Hi love,” she gasped when they came up for air.

 

“Hi.”

 

“Missed you.”

 

“You, too.”

 

“All right! All right, break it up you two!”

 

Anny turned her head and saw a grinning Alby Vorsworth. She disentangled herself from Jer and gave Alby a quick hug. “Alby! Good to see you!”

 

“And you! How have you been?”

 

“Not bad, but I’ve missed you and Jer. But heavens, I’m being rude! I’ve got some people who want to meet you, too!” She turned to beckon Chris and her brood forward. Introductions were made all around, although a few already knew each other, and the women seemed as delighted as the men. Several other officers from the regiment appeared to have attached themselves to the group, so the numbers were nearly even. But wait… who was that…?

 

Another young man had been lurking in the background and now Alby pulled him forward. His uniform wasn’t Barrayaran and with a start Anny realized what it was: _Cetagandan!_

 

“Hey, everyone,” said Alby, “I want you to meet my roommate: Ghem-Platoon-Chief Rad Benin. Rad, you probably didn’t catch everyone’s names—I didn’t either—but don’t worry. Say hello.”

 

Anny stared at the man. He was tall, well-built and rather handsome. His hair was dark and cut quite short. The most striking thing about him was an elaborately painted design on his right cheek. Red, black and white lines swirled in a complicated pattern. She knew that Cetagandan ghem often painted their whole faces on formal occasions but she wasn’t sure of the significance of this smaller design. Benin came up to about a meter away from her and made a stiff half-bow.

 

“Lieutenant Payne,” he said. “Lieutenant Vorsworth has told me a great deal about you. It is an honor to meet you at last.” He swept his eyes across the other women. “And the rest of you as well.”

 

“Uh, nice to meet you, too,” said Anny. Chris and her Vivs mumbled out replies, but were clearly as surprised as Anny. Alby had mentioned something about having a new roommate in one of his messages, but he hadn’t said anything about this! He was standing behind Benin, grinning. He’d clearly been planning this—the rat!

 

“The Cetas don’t have women in their army, either,” said Alby, smirking. “So you’re a novelty to him just like you are to all of us.”

 

“Yes, I’m here to learn what I can about modern-day Barrayaran military procedures,” said Benin. “I’m sure that observing you will be rewarding.”

 

“I hope I’m an entertaining specimen,” said Anny, not sure if she was amused or annoyed. Benin seemed to realize his misstep.

 

“Forgive me, I meant no offense,” he said, bowing again, a little more deeply this time.

 

“And none was taken. We have things to learn about you, too, I’m sure.”

 

“Anny is an experienced _combat_ officer,” said Jer, “not some… ornament.”

 

“Indeed, yes,” said Benin. “I have no combat experience at all, myself. A situation I hope to rectify on this expedition.”

 

“Another damn fire-eater,” growled Alby in mock-disgust. “I’m surrounded by ‘em! But there will be no combat today folks! We’re here to have fun so let’s have some!”

 

“Yes,” said Sven Estaban, “let’s look around the city.”

 

The group—almost two dozen of them all told—sorted themselves out and strolled. Anny noted that there was an almost immediate pairing off of the female medtechs and the male officers. Sven was hovering next to Chris Tropio. Chris had an amused smile on her face. The other women were chatting with the men.

 

“Major Vorglanov charged me with preventing _shenanigans_ between the girls and the men,” sighed Anny to Jer. “Managed to do it on the ship. Not sure I’m gonna be able to handle it dirtside.”

 

“Yeah, especially with the very poor example you’ll be setting for them tonight,” grinned Jer, giving her a squeeze.

 

“Yeah…” She kissed him. “Missed you so much.”

 

“But hey, Vorglanov can’t seriously be thinking he can keep men or women from engaging in shenanigans while on shore leave! He’d have a mutiny if he even tried to enforce an order like that!”

 

“It does sort of fly in the face of tradition, doesn’t it? But the hell with it. We’re all adults here and the girls can handle themselves. I’m just gonna worry about handling you.”

 

“That sounds good. In fact that sounds very good.”

 

They wandered through the city with no plan or objective besides taking in the sights. They sampled the food and the drinks as the mood took them. As they got farther from the space port the crowds diminished a bit. Stiversville seemed to be a well-planned and well-maintained city. It was only a fraction the size—or the age—of Vorbarr Sultana, but it had its own charm and just strolling with Jer at her side was very pleasant indeed.

 

But as the too-bright sun started dipping toward the horizon Jer asked: “With all this mob ashore are we going to be able to find a place to stay tonight? I bet every hotel is jammed.”

 

“Some of those tents we saw back near the spaceport were offering cots and showers for pretty cheap,” said Sven Estaban. “I imagine that most of the enlistedmen will be choosing places like that to save their money for… other stuff.”

 

“The weather’s mild enough, we could just camp out in one of the parks,” suggested one of the girls.

 

“Tish tosh!” said Alby, grinning in the way he did when he had Something Up His Sleeve. “We shall do no such thing. We have reservations.”

 

“Reservations?” demanded a half-dozen people simultaneously. “Where?”

 

“Why right over there, if I’m not mistaken,” replied Alby pointing to a large building a few blocks away.

 

“What’s that?”

 

“I believe it’s called the ‘Stiversville Arms’, or some such,” said Alby. “But I’m told it’s one of the best in the city. “I’ve reserved the Presidential Suite for us.”

 

“That must have cost a fortune!” gasped Chris Tropio.

 

“A small one,” admitted Alby.

 

“But how in the world did you arrange that?” demanded Anny. “With all the high-ranking officers and other VIPs in town I’d think all the best places would have been booked up.”

 

“Well, as a matter of fact, most of them were, but the computer security on this planet is _years_ out of date,” grinned Alby. “And I’m sure the Polian ambassador will be just as comfortable in the Vice Presidential Suite.”

 

“Alby!”

 

He just shrugged and said: “Follow me, folks!” He started off despite a chorus of protests, and everyone else eventually followed perforce.

 

“One of these days he’s going to get himself into so much trouble!” said Anny to Jer.

 

“No doubt. But in the meantime let’s enjoy ourselves. I hope they have nice big beds at this place.”

 

“We’ll soon find out. Look, there it is.” They reached the hotel which, like most of the larger buildings, was clad in a light yellow stucco finish. The entry was set under a deep canopy held up by stout columns and all the numerous windows had colorful awnings. Anny had noticed that the locals, despite their adaptations, tended to stay in the shade if they could help it and built their structures to provide shade. A faint tingling around her lips made her wonder if she’d kissed away her sunblock. Burning kisses were fine as long as it wasn’t literally burning her skin off! She reached into a pocket and brought out a small container of the sunblock and smeared some on her lips. She handed it to Jer and he smiled and did the same, even though they entered the shade under the canopy just a few seconds later.

 

There was a native by the main doors wearing what could almost be called a uniform. He smiled and bowed courteously, but he blocked their path and said: “Many pardons, but the hotel is completely booked. Unless you have reservations, I must plead with you to look elsewhere for accommodations.”

 

“No problem,” said Alby. “We have reservations.”

 

“Ah. Good, good. Your name, sir?” The man produced a computer pad.

 

“Vorsworth.”

 

After a quick look at his ‘pad the man snapped to attention. “Admiral Vorsworth! Welcome to the Stiversville Arms!” A half-dozen other natives appeared, as if by magic, and the whole party was ushered into the lavish lobby. Moments later they were in lifts taking them upward.

 

“ _Admiral_ Vorsworth?” whispered Anny, trying hard to suppress her grin.

 

Alby shrugged. “Gets their attention, doesn’t it? And as long as I can pay, what are they going to care?”

 

“Good thing they can’t read our uniform rank,” said Patric.

 

“Well, I couldn’t read that guy’s rank either. He might have been a field marshal or something.”

 

“Do they even have a military here?” asked Sven Estaban.

 

“A small one,” replied Anny. “Enough to deal with pirates and raiders. They haven’t got any significant resources here and with the UV problem, I guess they don’t worry much about an invasion.”

 

“Except from folks like us!”

 

The lifts stopped on the top floor which they discovered they had all to themselves. There was a huge central room with eight bedrooms off of it, a kitchen, numerous bathrooms and a large shaded roof garden with a small swimming pool. A dozen or more servants were waiting for them, but most were left with little to do as their guests had nothing but small overnight bags. Officers and med-techs quickly moved to explore the space.

 

“I like your friend, Anny,” said Chris Tropio. “He’s certainly got style!”

 

“Not to mention a touch of insanity,” quipped Jer. “But this is paradise after a month aboard ship!”

 

Anny noted that a great deal of pairing off had already taken place and she looked uneasily at Tropio. “Uh, Chris, I’ve been made the Shenanigan Police by my boss and I… uh…” She gestured at the others. She knew it was hopeless, but she felt duty-bound to try.

 

Chris smirked. “Lieutenant Payne, we are all on leave and what my girls do on leave is no more my business—or your business—than what you and Jer are probably going to be doing in short order. Okay?”

 

“Uh, well, as long as they know what they’re doing…”

 

“I assure you, they all know _exactly_ what they are doing! And they’ve all got their implants, so stop worrying, girl!”

 

Alby appeared, grinning ear to ear. “We’ve got almost two hours until dinner folks. So relax and enjoy yourselves.” Somehow his grin grew even broader. “Anny, Jer, that bedroom is yours. Enjoy.”

 

“You heard the Admiral,” said Jer, taking her arm and pulling her toward the indicated room.

 

 

* * *

 

 

A little over an hour later they emerged, holding hands and smiling at each other. About half their party was lounging about or in the pool, but a number of the bedroom doors were still closed. Alby was on a lounge chair, sipping a drink and watching the people in the pool. They went over to him and sat down. “How are the beds?” he asked, smirking.

 

“ _Very_ comfortable,” said Jer, smirking right back at him.

 

“Glad to hear it. I might just…” he paused as faint chime came from the direction of the door. “Oh good!” he popped to his feet.

 

“Dinner?” asked Anny, looking around. “I don’t know if everyone is… ready.”

 

“Nope, I’m expecting a guest. Come on.”

 

Puzzled, they followed him to the door. It opened to reveal a woman wearing a uniform—not a Barrayaran uniform. She also wore an amused smile. “ _Admiral_ Vorsworth?” she said, her eyebrows arching up.

 

“Field promotion. You know the sort of casualties those cocktail parties rack up among the high command! But come in! Come in!” Alby ushered her inside. “Anny, Jer, this is Lieutenant Commander Izabella Cresswell-Jones. She’s from Earth. Izabella, these are Lieutenants Payne and Naddel—special friends of mine.”

 

“Pleased to meet you,” said Cresswell-Jones, extending her hand. Anny shook it and so did Jer.

 

“How… how did you two meet?” asked Anny.

 

“Oh, a chance battlefield encounter during that desperately catered affair on the Cetagandan flagship. I told you about that, I think. Very nearly bought it, we did,” said Alby.

 

“And when the ‘admiral’, here, told me he had reservations at an actual hotel,” said Cresswell-Jones, “Well, that was an offer I couldn’t refuse! But Good Lord! Look at this place! How on Earth did you swing this, Alby?”

 

“Natural talent, m’dear! But make yourself at home. Dinner should be in about an hour, but there are plenty of snacks about. Can I get you a drink?”

 

“Please.” Alby took the woman off toward the bar. He walked very close to her.

 

“Well, what do you think of that?” asked Anny.

 

Jer shrugged. “We’re on shore leave.”

 

“But what about Abigail?”

 

“They’re not engaged or anything, and,” he shrugged again and grinned. “We’re on shore leave.”

 

“Ah, I see,” she said a bit tartly. “And can I expect that same attitude from you if for some reason you find yourself on shore leave without me, Lieutenant?”

 

“Anny… You know I didn’t mean that!”

 

“Yes, I know. And I guess you are right. And in any case, it’s none of our business.” Privately she found that she was a little disappointed with Alby, although she couldn’t really say why. They wandered out and found seats by the pool. Several of the girls were in there with several of the men, apparently playing some game which involved a lot of splashing and laughing, but no other objective that Anny could discern. Alby and Cresswell-Jones joined them after a moment with their drinks.

 

They chatted a bit about shipboard life, the trip so far, the mission ahead, the planet Lengkeek and Stiversville. But Anny’s eyes kept being drawn to Cresswell-Jones’ uniform. It was a blue so dark that it almost looked black. Instead of the high, stiff collar of Barrayaran uniforms it had an open collar revealing the shirt and necktie that was underneath. The cuffs had three gold bands, two wide and a narrow one in between. The upper band had a single loop. _Lieutenant-commander, that would be about the equivalent of a major. She outranks all of us._

 

Anny couldn’t get over the fact that she was looking at a woman in uniform and it wasn’t her in a mirror. She waited for a break in the conversation—she had to be quick because Alby abhorred a silence the way nature abhorred a vacuum—and then said: “Commander Cresswell-Jones, I guess Earth’s militaries have had women in them for a long time, haven’t they?”

 

The woman looked surprised by the question. “Sure. Centuries. Longer than that, I guess, since before space travel. And please, call me Izabella; we’re off-duty here, Anny. But why do you ask? Oh!” She looked at Alby.

 

“Barrayar has about a thousand years of catching up to do,” he said with a grin.

 

“Wow… that’s a little hard to get my head around. I mean men outnumber women in the services a bit, but not by all that much. You’re really the only one in your army?”

 

“The only one in a combat role,” said Anny. “We’ve got a few in support roles like medical,” she nodded toward the women in the pool. “And more will be coming soon. There are over a hundred more women in our academy.” She stared pointedly at Alby hoping he’d remember Abigail, but if he did he made no indication. “But there aren’t any problems in your military, Izabella? Men and women just… ignore it?”

 

Cresswell-Jones laughed. “Well, I wouldn’t say we _ignore_ it! But we get along. I mean we’re all professionals with a job to do.” She grew serious. “But from your question I guess things haven’t gone that smoothly for you?”

 

“You might say that!” snorted Jer. “The Barrayarans tried to drive her out with every dirty trick in the book. But nothing worked. She showed them all!”

 

Cresswell-Jones eyed Jer closely and frowned. “You talk about the Barrayarans as if you’re not one of them.”

 

“I’m a loyal subject of the Empire. But I’m from Komarr.”

 

“Ah, sort of like when I say I’m from Canada rather than Earth or the North American Union?”

 

“Something like that,” said Jer.

 

“We Earthers have always been a provincial lot,” chuckled Cresswell-Jones. “Guess we’re not the only ones, eh?”

 

“Barrayar, itself, has only been unified for a little over a century,” said Alby. “There are still folks who feel more loyalty to their district than the Imperium. And Komarr is… is…” he glanced at Jer.

 

“Komarr is still a work in progress.”

 

They all looked up as Rad Benin came over to them. “May I join you?” he asked.

 

“Sure,” said Alby. “Izabella, I told you about my roommate, didn’t I? This is Ghem-Platoon-Chief Rad Benin. Rad, this is Lieutenant Commander Izabella Cresswell-Jones. Rad, don’t stand there like you’re on parade! Sit down! Have a drink! Unbutton your tunic! We’re on leave.!”

 

Benin perched rigidly on one of the chairs, looking anything but relaxed. Cresswell-Jones eyed the man curiously. “So how is the experiment in interstellar diplomacy working out?” she asked. “There are countries on Earth that have just as much reason to hate each other as Barrayar and Cetaganda, but that was a lot longer ago.”

 

“Working fine so far,” said Alby. “Rad has no sense of humor whatsoever, but he’s tidy and unlike Gilchrist, he doesn’t hog the shower or snore at night.”

 

Benin arched an eyebrow. “It has been most instructive so far. Lieutenant Vorsworth has exposed me to aspects of the Barryaran military not to be found in our intelligence briefs.”

 

Jer snorted. “I thought you said he didn’t have a sense of humor, Alby!”

 

“First I’ve seen of one,” replied Alby. “Must be the extra UV around here.”

 

They laughed and the conversation became general again. As they talked, more of the missing people emerged from the bedrooms and either joined them or the people in the pool. As the light outside faded, dinner arrived and it was very good, although one dish was so spicy Anny’s eyes started watering just from the smell of it. Most of the others gave it a pass although she noted that Rad Benin seemed to enjoy it.

 

There was abundant alcohol present, of course, and things got quite merry. The suite had an excellent sound system and as the evening wore on there was dancing and singing. Anny danced mostly with Jer, but there was a fair amount of partner swapping and it was really a great deal of fun. And quite a contrast with the oh-so-proper regimental mess back at Fort Vorolson!

 

During a break between dances Anny and Jer wandered out to small balcony that had a clear view of the sky. Lengkeek was nearly 4,000 light years from Barrayar in a straight line and the constellations were very different. A luminous nebula filled a quarter of the northern sky. It was amazingly beautiful. She snuggled closer to Jer. “I love you,” she said.

 

“And I love you.” He was silent for a moment and then he asked: “Are you happy?”

 

“Yes. Yes, I am. Being back with the regiment, being back with you. Yes, I’m happy.”

 

“Good. But it’s late and it’s been a long day and I want to try out that amazing bed again.”

 

“Sounds like an excellent idea.”

 

They drifted back into the main room and saw that many of the others had already anticipated them. The music was now low and only a few people still lingered. They went into their room and locked the door.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The beeping of her wristcom slowly brought Anny back to consciousness. “Damn,” she muttered, fumbling to find the device. She cursed again when she saw that only a dim light was seeping in the windows. It wasn’t even dawn yet? “Payne, here,” she growled when she found her ‘com.

 

“Lieutenant? Sergeant Kay. Are you… um, available?”

 

“For what? What’s the matter, Sergeant?”

 

She could hear the embarrassment in her platoon sergeant’s voice. “Sorry to disturb you, sir, but a couple of the boys have gotten themselves into trouble.”

 

“What kind of trouble?” asked Anny, coming slightly more awake.

 

“Oh, nothin’ too serious, sir. A bar fight. Some bruises, some damage to the place. The locals have them in lock-up and they won’t let them go until we pay the fines and the damages. I’m not authorized to do that.”

 

“Just fines? Nobody killed or anything?”

 

“No sir. Not by any of our lads, anyway. But it wasn’t just our platoon last night! Looks like half a regiment under arrest down here. The locals seem a tad put out. Can you come down and bail our people out, sir?”

 

Anny sighed. The high command had anticipated the situation and all the officers had been issued credit chits for just this purpose.

 

“Sir?”

 

“All right, all right. I’ll be down. Where are you? The city police HQ?” She wasn’t sure where that was, but she assumed she could find it.

 

“No. sir, they couldn’t handle the mob. We’re at the city sports arena. You can home in on my com.”

 

“Right. Are our people being treated properly?”

 

“Oh, yes, sir. They’ve chalked out holding pens on the grass and they’re just sitting there waiting. Some of the locals have shown up to sell refreshments. ‘Course most of our guys are still sleeping it off.”

 

“Good. Then they can wait for a bit. I’ll be down in an hour… or two.”

 

“Right. Thank you, sir.” Kay clicked off. Anny rolled over and went back to sleep.

 

Slightly more than two hours later Anny, washed, fed, and reasonably awake approached the Stiversville sports area. Jer and several of the other officers were with her—they had men to bail out, too.

 

“Good Lord! Look at this mob!” exclaimed Sven Estaban. “We’ll be lucky to get out of here in time to catch our shuttle back to the ship!”

 

Anny was afraid that he was right, but they found that a system had been set up that was both quick and efficient. She just told one of the native officials what unit she was with and in a surprisingly short time five men from her platoon, escorted by a police officer and Sergeant Kay, were produced—along with a list of fines and penalties to be paid. Somehow she wasn’t surprised that Private Kerbeck was one of the ne’r-do-wells.

 

“Wasn’t our fault, sir!” cried Kerbeck the instant he caught sight of her. “There was a batch of… of… Cetagandans! Yeah! Cetagandans jumped us and we had to defend ourselves!”

 

Anny shook her head. “Private, the Cetagandans had their shore leave already. They’re all gone.”

 

“Musta been some deserters then!”

 

“Kerbeck, shut up!” snapped Kay. “Stubinski, why do you still have that thing?” Anny did a double-take. Private Stubinski was leading a small goat-like creature on a rope. It had blue fur and large liquid green eyes.

 

“Can’t just turn her loose, Sarge!” protested the private.

 

“Where did you get that?” demanded Anny.

 

“Uh… not quite sure, sir. She was with me when I woke up this morning. Gonna call her ‘Lulubelle.”

 

“You can’t take it back aboard ship, Private,” said Anny. The man’s face fell and Anny felt guilty. The thing really was cute. “Sorry, but it’s regulations. And I’m sure she’ll be happier here.” She looked at the police officer. “Any mention of a missing… animal on your list?”

 

“Nope, not yet. But it’s being updated hourly.” The man shook his head. “I thought the Cetagandans were something, but oh! You Barryarans!”

 

“We’ll take that as a compliment. We all done here? Are my men free to go?”

 

The man checked his computer and nodded. “The payment went through, so yes. You can go.”

 

“Any restrictions on where these men can go? Do they have to leave the planet?”

 

“No, since there were no serious injuries and as long as you folks can pay for the damages, they’re free to stay.”

 

“This is quite a racket you’ve got here. Isn’t it?” The man just smiled and turned to the next officer in the line. Anny took her troopers aside and frowned at them. They looked back at her guiltily. “I ought to send you back to the ship,” she said. “But… you’ve got another twelve hours of shore leave. Try to stay out of trouble, will you?”

 

“Yes, sir! Thank you, sir!” They saluted and moved off immediately before she could change her mind.

 

“And, Stubinski: find someone to give Lulubelle to!” she called after them.

 

“Thanks, sir,” said Kay. “I think they got the worst out of their system last night. They should be all right for the rest of the day.”

 

She let Kay go and then found Jer, who was bailing out a few men from his own platoon. Anny noticed a batch of local police bringing in a new load of troopers. Yeah, they had quite a racket going here.

 

They spent the rest of the day touring the city. Just walking and talking and enjoying each other’s company. It was really nice. “A month until we see each other again,” she sighed.

 

“Forty-two days, actually,” said Jer.

 

“Counting the days?”

 

“Always.”

 

They had dinner, took in a show with live performers and then reluctantly headed back to the shuttleport. They met up with Chris Tropio and her girls there. Everyone claimed to have had a fine time. They had to wait almost an hour but they spent the time together so they didn’t mind. Eventually, Anny’s shuttle landed and she kissed Jer good-bye and got aboard with the girls and a crowd of troopers from her battalion. They were good spirits and had an amazing assortment of souvenirs. Many seemed to have replaced parts of their uniforms with native garb. _The next inspection ought to be interesting…_

Ensign Vorgard plopped into a seat next to her. “Hi Anny, have a good leave?”

 

“Oh yes. You?”

 

“Great! Really great! But boy, I think the locals got more than they bargained for!” He nodded toward the happy troopers.

 

“Yes, I think they’ll remember us on Lengkeek for a long time.”

 

 

**Chapter 16**

 

The gleaming battle axe streaked toward Anny’s head. She twisted aside, but not quickly enough. The deadly blade missed her head, but sliced through part of her shoulder, the monomolecular edge cutting the armor like it was paper. She felt a faint pain and her display flashed with red warning lights. Then her whole left arm went numb. But she didn’t even pause to evaluate the damage. Her opponent was off balance with his blow and she had her chance. Pivoting on her right foot, she drove her left into the enemy’s chest, slamming him to the ground. Following through, and spinning in a virtual pirouette, she landed atop the arm holding the battle axe, pinning it down. Her own weapon, the massive hammer with the spiked end, flashed down and smashed through the enemy’s helmet with a spray of sparks and a sickening crunch.

 

She wrenched it free, trying not to see the ruin it had probably made of her opponent’s head. Only then did she notice that the left arm of her armor—and quite probably her own left arm was lying on the ground a few paces from her fallen foe.

 

“Well done!”

 

“Nice move!

 

“Bravo!”

 

A chorus of voices came over her com channel and then the scene of combat faded away and she found herself standing on the deck of the training room aboard the attack transport _Stalwart_. Dozens of people in battle armor and a number in regular uniforms were watching her—battalion officers and senior NCOs for the most part. She did a quick look to confirm that her arm was back where it belonged.

 

Standing opposite her was Lieutenant Dahlberg of 1st Platoon, the man she had just ‘killed’. His helmet visor swung open and he grinned at her and shook his head. “Nicely done, Anny,” he said. “I really thought I had you there. Hell, I _did_ have some of you!”

 

“Some but not all,” she said grinning back at him.”You fought very well, Lieutenant.”

 

“At this rate you’ll only have to die four more times to get the rest of her, Georg,” said Ensign Vorgard. A lot of people laughed and even Dahlberg chuckled.

 

“And let that be a lesson to all of us,” said Major Vorglanov, the battalion commander. “The neural interface of the armor can allow the wearer to ignore wounds that would normally be crippling. Dahlberg thought he’d won so he got careless. Payne took advantage of that to turn the tables on him. When you take down an opponent, make sure he’s _really_ down!”

 

“Yes sir,” said Dahlberg and everyone else nodded. The armor really did allow extraordinary things to happen. The pain and shock effects from almost any wound could be negated and the suit’s occupant could keep going as long as the suit was functional—or until he ran out of limbs. Only a head shot could guarantee a quick kill.

 

“All right, next pair,” said Vorglanov. Two more of the men in armor faced off and Anny returned to the ranks of watchers.

 

A tiny light in the corner of her vision told her when the simulation began. To all appearances, two suits of battle armor began to circle each other, weapons at the ready. In reality, Anny knew that they were still just standing there, motionless. The Mark XI battle armor had had some new improvements made even since she’d used one during her apprentice cruise the previous year. The neural interface could now hook into a central simulation computer, turning each suit into a simulator pod like the ones she had used at the Academy—and like the ones Alby had been working so hard on back at Fort Vorolson. It was a huge bonus. Now the entire battalion—the entire regiment when the ships were close enough—could run totally realistic exercises together. The spectators who were not in armor could watch the proceedings with special video goggles. There wasn’t even a real reason why any of them had to be in the exercise room. They could have just left the suits in their storage racks and done this from there. But somehow, people felt like they needed to actually move around a bit.

 

Speaking of which… She twisted slightly and managed to withdraw her right arm from its metal sleeve. She scratched her itching nose and sighed in relief. That was one thing you couldn’t do in the old model armor! In fact, with the neural interface controlling movement of the suits, there was no reason why your arms or legs even needed to be inside the armor’s appendages. But they were still built that way. She’d heard some rumors that the Mark XII armor was going to have the pilot curled in a ball inside a heavily armored cocoon and not even bother with the arms or legs anymore. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

 

The dueling pair, as often happened, pounded each other to simulated junk before one of them was finally ruled out of action. The matches continued until everyone had had a chance. Anny watched Patric Mederov’s bout with interest. Patric was a very big and strong man, but his real strength didn’t matter at all while in armor. Unfortunately, he was a bit clumsy, too. Anny had been giving him some private pointers about using the personal weapons in close combat and it looked as though he was improving. One other new feature of the armor was that it could overlay a real-time image of the person’s face, making it look like their visor was open even though it wasn’t. It made things a lot more convenient when talking with people. Or in situations like this: she could watch Patric’s face and get an idea of his mental state while he was fighting. Of course, the enlistedmen hated the new feature—they couldn’t make faces at their sergeants anymore. Patric didn’t win his match, but he did pretty well and he looked satisfied. Good.

 

When they finished up the matches, Major Vorglanov addressed them. “Okay, we are going to do one more exercise before we wrap things up for the morning. If you’ve been studying the briefings on Novo Paveo—and I hope you have!—you know that the planet is mostly covered with shallow oceans. There are thousands of islands and a couple of small continents. It is quite probable that we will see action on those islands or in coastal regions. We need to be prepared for combat underwater as well as on land.” He paused to let that sink in. Battle armor was quite capable of functioning underwater and at considerable depth. But it wasn’t something that they practiced often—or ever as far as Anny knew.

 

“Underwater combat is a lot different than what we are used to,” continued Vorglanov. “Our most common weapon, the plasma arc, won’t work at all. If you try, all you’ll succeed in doing is boiling the water in your immediate vicinity—quite possibly with damaging effects to yourself. Lasers and mass-drivers will function to a certain extent, but with drastically reduced ranges and effectiveness. Normal missiles will be nearly useless, but we’ll have some modified ones available that will work pretty well—miniature torpedoes for all practical purposes. Those will be our primary long-range weapons. Hand-to-hand combat will be affected, too. The water will slow us down and make impact weapons a lot less useful. So, we shall have to adapt. We’ll be running the whole battalion through some exercises in the coming weeks, but I wanted to let you folks try it out first.” He ran his eyes over them and most everyone nodded. Yeah, it was always a good idea for the officers and NCOs to at least appear to know what they were doing. “For this session I just want you to get used to moving around underwater. All right, let’s get to it.”

 

The small simulator light flashed on again and Anny found herself immersed in dark, murky water. A faint glimmer of sunlight came from above, dimly illuminating her surroundings. She was standing on a rocky outcrop of some sort and a few plants waved in the current. She could dimly make out other figures in armor around her. She rapidly moved through different sensor settings to try and improve the view. None of them were terribly good, but she found one that wasn’t too bad and her vision extended out a hundred meters or so. Her non-visual readings were better, but still much degraded compared to the open air.

 

She tried moving around and it was weird. The water resisted her movements and she stumbled and fell almost immediately, but again, the water slowed her fall in an odd way. She’d never done much swimming and this seemed very unnatural. More unexpected results occurred when she started playing with her anti-grav unit. On land, negating part of the gravitational pull allowed her to leap long distances, but it seemed that even 250 kilos of metal and ceramics could have significant buoyancy when the gravity was negated. She shot toward the surface like a cork before she could reduce the nullification and settle back toward the bottom. Several exclamations over the com circuits indicated that she wasn’t the only one to be taken by surprise.

 

The maneuvering thrusters she would use in zero-G still worked, but she found she had to learn how to fly her suit all over again. In space the trick was not to over-use the thrusters. Usually just a gentle nudge was all that was needed. But here, a gently nudge might move you a meter or two, before the water stopped you dead. You needed a constant thrust to keep moving. She got the hang of it after a while and was eventually able to pilot her suit like some miniature submarine, but her speed was very limited and she had to watch what she was doing carefully to maintain a steady course.

 

After an hour or so she felt confident that she could at least get from place to place underwater. Fighting… well, that was another story. But Vorglanov terminated the session and told them that was enough to absorb for one day. They’d get more practice later. “And I’ve been promised that we’ll be getting some software upgrades that will help with maneuvering underwater,” he added. “God knows when—or if—we’ll get them.”

 

Anny and the others walked their suits back down to the storage areas and parked them in their racks. Sven Estaban fell in beside her as she made her way back toward her quarters. “Wow, I’m not sure I liked that! Made me feel like a newbie in a suit again!”

 

“Yeah. Let’s hope we can do our fighting on dry land when we get there,” agreed Anny.

 

“If there is any dry land. You read the briefing on the tides they have there?”

 

“What? Oh, yeah. Should make things interesting.” Novo Paveo had a very large moon, almost a companion planet. The pair had not become tidally locked yet, although that would happen in another million years or so, but at the moment, the moon caused enormous tides in Novo Paveo’s oceans. Some of the smaller islands appeared and disappeared on a regular basis, and the coastlines on the larger land masses could advance or retreat many kilometers as the seas rushed in or fell back. Barrayar’s two moons were too small to produce significant tides so this was something new.

 

She and Estaban went their separate ways. She went to her quarters to strip out of the undersuit she wore with her armor and take a shower. Then it was down to the mess hall for lunch. She bumped into Patric there and immediately noticed that the big farm boy was upset about something. He was almost always in good spirits so the change was striking. She didn’t think the problem was the morning combat exercise…

 

“How are you doing, Patric?”

 

“Fine.”

 

“Uh… good. What did you think of that exercise this morning?”

 

“S‘okay.”

 

“Working underwater is going to be quite a challenge, don’t you think?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Patric was usually quiet, but this was especially monosyllabic even for him. Anny watched him for a while as they ate. Or as she ate—he was just pushing his food around on the plate—and _that_ was really unusual. Finally she leaned forward and whispered: “Patric, what’s the matter?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

“Don’t give me that bull! Something’s wrong! You didn’t get some bad news about your father’s health, did you?” A fast courier had just caught up with the fleet that day and delivered the mail.

 

“What? No, no, nothing like that.” Patric was clearly surprised by the suggestion.

 

“Then what is it?”

 

“Nothing… oh hell, it’s Lyra.”

 

 _Aha!_ Lyra Gunderson, one of the medtechs. She and Patric had been carrying on rather obviously before and during the time on Lengkeek.

 

 _Before, during… but not after?_ Come to think of it she hadn’t even seen them passing in the same compartment since Lengkeek. “What’s wrong with Lyra?”

 

“That’s what I want to know!” exclaimed Patric, his frustration obvious. “I thought…. I thought we had something going. And now she acts like she doesn’t even know me!”

 

“Did something happen on Lengkeek?”

 

“No! Well, something did happen, but it sure seemed like it was a good something! Everything seemed fine until we got back here!”

 

“We’re back on duty now, Patric. You can’t expect her to act like we’re still on shore leave.”

 

“I know that! But she can at least answer when a guy says hello in the mess hall!”

 

Anny frowned. “Patric, the girls are all under a microscope just like I was back at the Academy. They can’t even appear to be carrying on. And I know what happened during the shore leave, but I also know that some of the higher-ups weren’t too happy about it. Something may have come down that we don’t know about.”

 

“It’s not like the women medtechs are anything new—like you are—they’ve been around for a while!”

 

“But they’ve never been deployed off-planet like this before. That’s new and maybe adapting to it isn’t routine. Give things a chance to settle down.”

 

Patric looked slightly mollified. “Yeah, I guess…”

 

“And I’ll ask Chris if she knows anything. She’s been kind of quiet lately, too.”

 

“Okay, I’d appreciate that. Thanks, Anny.”

 

“You really like Lyra, huh?”

 

“Yeah… Oh, hell, look at the time! Gotta run!”

 

“Yeah, me, too. See you later.” She got up and headed for her platoon’s barracks compartment. There was an inspection scheduled today and Captain Vorstang said it was going to be an especially thorough one. The men had managed to smuggle an incredible amount of… _stuff_ aboard from Lengkeek and even now, three weeks later, men were turning up drunk or stoned on duty. Word had come down that it had to stop. Anny wasn’t sure how much good the inspection would do. In spite of all that they could do to keep them busy, the men were getting bored and when men got bored…

 

She met Sergeant Kay in the Ready Room. The real inspection wasn’t for another hour, but most platoon commanders and sergeants did a pre-inspection inspection to keep embarrassing discoveries to a minimum. Some officers left that to the top sergeants, but Anny always tried to be there. “Okay?” she asked Kay.

 

“Yes, sir. Anytime you’re ready.”

 

“Good, let’s go.” They walked down to the barracks compartment. Someone shouted attention, but she put everyone at ease. Then she and Kay walked up and down the rows of bunks and checked the rows of lockers. They didn’t find any contraband and she hadn’t expected to. The barracks were so compact there just wasn’t room to hide much of anything. No, she strongly suspected that the real hiding places were aboard the assault shuttles or in the hanger bays. The troopers couldn’t have accomplished their smuggling without help from the shuttle crews—and there were a whole lot more hiding places on the shuttles. Unfortunately, the shuttles belonged to the Navy and she had no authority to inspect them. Oh well, they’d use up the stuff eventually—except they were scheduled for another shore leave in less than two weeks.

 

While she was looking at the contents of one of the lockers she heard a faint clicking noise behind her and something nudged her leg just behind her knee. She turned and looked down into a pair of wide green eyes. “Well hello, Lulubelle,’ she said. “How are you today?”

 

The little creature—which they’d learned was called a _vella_ on Lengkeek—made a small meeping noise reminiscent of a terrestrial cat. Private Stubinski steadfastly denied smuggling Lulubelle aboard, but somehow she’d been there after the first wormhole jump and it was far too late to do anything about it. The ship’s surgeon had run some tests and declared the _vella_ free of any dangerous parasites or pathogens and since it was almost odor free and had even learned to use the litter boxes used by the ship’s cats, Captain Vorstang had bowed to the inevitable and Lulubelle was now the company mascot. The surgeon had privately told Anny that with the sort of diet she was getting aboard ship he doubted the creature would live long, but for the moment she seemed healthy enough.

 

Lulubelle meeped once more and then trotted away, her tiny hooves clicking on the deck. _If we can’t keep the men from smuggling aboard a goat, how can we keep them from smuggling even smaller things?_

 

“Almost time, sir,” said Kay, indicating the hour.

 

“Right. Okay, fall them in for inspection, Sergeant.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Ivan was sorting through the mound of incoming messages for the Ambassador and mused how very like his previous job this was. Sorting snakes for ambassadors was little different from sorting snakes for generals and admirals. The snakes themselves were a bit different, but he could still classify them the same way. _Garden variety… garden variety… dead… Whoops, there’s a venomous one, agitated at that! Garden variety… quiescent…_

 

A fast courier had brought a huge number of messages for the diplomatic contingent—along with even larger numbers for everyone else. Going through them was drudgery, but it was familiar drudgery and at least it only happened every few weeks. With any luck he could have this sorted through in time for lunch with Tej.

 

His door buzzer buzzed and he frowned. He could make lunch with Tej if he wasn’t _interrupted_ …

 

“Enter,” he sighed. The door slid aside and he immediately came to alert. There was his boss, Ambassador Vorpinski, and with him was Colonel Fetherbay, commander of the 61st Infantry. Both men’s faces looked… grim. Ivan got to his feet.

 

“Good morning, sir, Colonel. What… what can I do for you?”

 

“Morning, Ivan,” replied Vorpinski. “Still sorting the mail?”He gestured toward Ivan’s comconsole.

 

“Yes sir.”

 

“I imagine there’s quite a pile as usual, so you probably haven’t seen this yet.” He handed him a small comp pad. Ivan scanned down it and stopped.

 

“Damn. What a shame.”

 

“Yes,” agreed Vorpinski. “Colonel Fetherbay has a rather sad duty to perform and considering your personal connections, I was wondering if you’d be willing to help him out?”

 

Ivan swallowed. He could think of a hundred other unpleasant things he’d much rather do, but there was no way he could refuse this. “Of course, sir,” he said.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Alby was working for Captain Hopkins, the regimental intelligence officer, this week. The Colonel had been rotating Alby around to the various staff positions since they’d left Barrayar to see where he best fit in. He found that he liked the intelligence work. Operations had more prestige, as did Planning, but intelligence appealed to his naturally analytical mind. Hopkins had already complimented him a couple of times about his ability to cut through the inevitable BS in the reports and grab the few nuggets of actual information in them. It was really kind of fun.

 

But right now there was a mound of BS he had to wade through. A fast courier had rendezvoused with the fleet and delivered a few terabytes of new intelligence reports from Barrayar. Only a fraction of that was considered suitable for the eyes of mere regimental officers, but it still made quite a pile. He’d probably be at this for the next couple of days…

 

“Hey, Alby!” He looked up as Hopkins poked his head into his cubicle.

 

“Sir?”

 

“Report to the Colonel.”

 

His eyebrows shot up. “Why? What’d I do now?”

 

“No idea. Just go.”

 

Puzzled, Alby got to his feet and went down the corridor to Fetherbay’s office. He didn’t have any recent crimes on his conscience, so he hoped that this would be something trivial. The Colonel’s aide waved him right through.

 

Alby rocked to a halt. Fetherbay was on his feet and with him was Ivan Vorpatril. Both men looked grim…

 

“My father is dead, isn’t he?” said Alby’s mouth. The words had gone directly from his back-brain to his vocal cords without any intermediate processing, but he knew it was true. The expressions on Fetherbay’s and Vorpatril’s faces confirmed it before they could even nod.

 

“Yes, Lieutenant,” said Fetherbay. “I’m deeply sorry.”

 

“Is my mother okay?”

 

“She’s… well,” said Vorpatril. He held out a comp pad. “Here is the official notification and several personal messages. Let me offer my own condolences, Lieutenant. Your father was a fine officer. This is a loss to the whole Empire.”

 

Alby’s chest felt like it was in a vice. His whole body was tingling like he’d just taken a dose of Dynatrim. He reached out a shaking hand and took the compad. “Thank you, sir.”

 

“Lieutenant, take the rest of the day off,” said Fetherbay. “I have authorization to detach you. You can go back to Barrayar on the fast courier if that’s what you want.”

 

Alby twitched. Go back to Barrayar? Go home? A hundred thoughts had been swirling through his head, but that hadn’t been one of them. “I…I…”

 

“The courier isn’t leaving until tomorrow. You’ve got some time to think about it.”

 

“All… all right. Thank you, sir.” He turned and left the office. He headed back toward his own cubicle, but somehow Hopkins had been informed of the situation in the few moments he’d been away and he just offered his condolences and sent Alby to his quarters.

 

Rad wasn’t there, thankfully, so he slumped down on his bunk and read through the messages on the compad. There were three official notifications of his father’s death. One from Count Vorgannon’s residence, one from the Veteran’s Affairs Office, and one from his father’s lawyer. There were two letters from his sister; a brief one with the news itself and another follow-up assuring him that she was with their mother and she would look after things. The funeral would be in a week from the time she wrote the letter, so it was long past by now. She wanted to know if he would be returning home.

 

_Will I?_

 

He could. Fetherbay said that he could. But would he? What was the point? The funeral was already over and whatever emotional mess his mother might be going through would mostly be over by the time he could get back, too. And what could he do anyway? The image of him trying to give her any comfort seemed ludicrous. They’d never been close. His sister could do a much better job. Or was he just making excuses for not going? He had a growing sense of guilt over the fact that he didn’t feel worse about this. He supposed he ought to cry or something, but no tears came. He’d never felt much love toward either of his parents. They’d been so distant. And when he found out the real circumstances behind his birth, he’d been angry with them for a long time. He’d nearly just walked away from them at one point only a few years ago. Things had improved since then, but still…

 

There was another message from the lawyer also inquiring when and if he’d be coming home. There was the matter of his father’s will and the estate. While the details could not be revealed until the formal reading, the essence of it was that pretty much everything was being left to Alby, with codicils concerning the support of his mother and other sums being left to his sister and her children. The sums involved were… substantial.

 

Money had never meant a great deal to Alby, but it seemed that he was now ridiculously wealthy. _I could have rented the whole damn hotel on Lengkeek…_

 

Clearly he had a set of new responsibilities. But go home? Did he really want to do that? Should he go even if he didn’t want to?

 

He put the ‘pad aside and left his quarters. Exploring the flagship, he’d found a small observation blister in an out of the way location. He wasn’t sure what its real purpose was, but he sometimes went there for some solitude and he went there now. He closed the hatch behind him and sat down on an old cushion he’d purloined and stared at the stars.

 

His father was dead. His grandfather was dead. He was the eldest male member of this branch of the Vorsworth clan. There were other Vorsworths, but they were all very distant relations. That huge house and the land around it belonged to him now. The servants worked for him now. He suddenly felt very alone. Adrift, like those stars out there.

 

He tried to imagine what his mother was feeling right now, but the only image that came to mind was her at her favorite dressmaker fussing over mourning garb. Not fair, not fair, she did love him, he knew that.

 

_So what are you going to do, kiddo? Go or stay?_

He tried to think about what he’d do if he did go home. Hold his mother’s hand? For how long? He could get an extended leave, but unless he actually resigned his commission, eventually he’d have to return to duty. But where? The 61st would be halfway across the Nexus. Could he get back or would they assign him to another unit? Too many unknowns.

 

He had a duty to his family but… _I’ve got a family here now, too._

 

Anny and Jer and Patric, they were family. And they were heading into danger. There was nothing he could do to help his family on Barrayar. But his family here… he could still help them.

 

He slowly nodded his head.

 

He still had a job to do and he would do it.

 

He had a batch of messages to write, but he was staying right here.

 

 

**Chapter 17**

 

 

“Good-bye, Anny,” said Jer Naddel. “I guess we won’t see each other again until Novo Paveo.”

 

His lover’s beautiful face was all scrunched up and she unsuccessfully tried to blink back the tears. She moved close and pressed herself against his chest, her strong arms wrapping around his back. “Please be careful, Jer,” she whispered. “Please.”

 

They were standing in the main spaceport of a planet called Lunda Sul. It was the last day of their last shore leave before they reached their destination—Novo Paveo.

 

He stroked her hair and tried to laugh. “You’re telling _me_ to be careful?”

 

“Yes, I am.”

 

“I’ll be every bit as careful as I know you’ll be, girl.”

 

“That’s not much comfort.”

 

“No, it’s not, is it? But I’ll try not to earn any medals if you don’t either, okay?”

 

“Okay.”

 

“Good. But you know that like as not, we’ll get there, growl menacingly at the Enbees, they’ll knuckle under and in a few months we’ll be on our way home without firing or hearing a shot.”

 

“I hope you’re right.” She snuggled closer. “Half the people with us are itching to see combat, but I’m not. More and more I’m dreading it, Jer.”

 

“Bad dreams about Dounby?” She’d been very restless in bed last night. He knew that she had nightmares about the people she’d lost on her apprentice cruise.

 

“A few,” she admitted. “And it worries me. In combat you can’t hold anything back, you have to be totally committed or you could lose more lives—lose the battle. You can’t hesitate for fear of taking casualties.”

 

“Yeah. Well, you didn’t hesitate on Dounby and you won’t hesitate this time, either. You’ll do fine.”

 

“I hope. It’s just… _damn_ I wish we were in the same battalion!”

 

“Want to keep an eye on me?” Jer smiled.

 

“Damn right! The way they deploy assault troops, we could be halfway around the planet from each other!”

 

“Well, that would still be true even if we were in the same company. They do tend to spread us out.”

 

“I suppose. But I hope we at least get a chance to see each other once we’re there.”

 

“Yeah, me, too… Hell, looks like we’re getting ready to board.” A new batch of shuttles had just touched down and people were moving toward them. This was it. They kissed again and then drew apart. “I love you.” he mouthed.

 

“And I love you,” she whispered back.

 

“See you when we get there. That’s a promise.”

 

She nodded and moved away, but kept looking at him. He did the same until he bumped into someone and then had to reluctantly watch where he was going instead of her. He glanced in her direction a few more times, but she had disappeared into the crowd. _When will we see each other again?_ It was a numbing feeling; they might _never_ see each other again. Somehow the thought had never really come to him the other times they’d been separated. Not like this, anyway. He didn’t believe in premonitions, but still…

 

He joined the queue and eventually got onto a shuttle. He spotted Sergeant Shusterman, his platoon sergeant, and edged over next to him. “Hi Sarge. How’d things go? I didn’t get any calls to bail the boys out this time. Guess you kept them out of trouble?”

 

Shusterman shook his head and cursed. “No sir. No trouble for anyone to get _into_ on this bloody planet. Who in hell picked this… this _monastery_ for shore leave?”

 

“No idea,” admitted Jer. “It does seem pretty straight-laced, doesn’t it?”

 

“You could say so! No booze, no women, the boys aren’t in too good of a mood, sir.”

 

Jer had noticed the apparent lack of bars and fleshpots in the parts of town he’d frequented with Anny, but the absence of liquor didn’t bother him much and he only had eyes for one special woman anyway. But he hadn’t realized that the whole city was like that. “Oh dear… wasn’t there anything for the men to do?”

 

“Oh, the Holy Joes who run the place had all sorts of ‘activities’ lined up for us, sir. Games and concerts and prayer meetings. The boys were… thrilled.” The Sergeant shook his head again but then added: “Some of the music _was_ pretty nice.”

 

“But no women, you say?”

 

“Not a frill to be seen, sir. And the other women all wear veils and long robes and won’t associate with ‘barbarians’. ‘Course there were some women from the other contingents and our medical companies, but they were a tad outnumbered.”

 

“Right. Well, we’re going to have to keep our eyes open to keep the men out of Ladies’ Country back on the ship,” said Jer. His battalion, like Anny’s, had a medical company attached. But this one only had five women medtechs and they were a lot less outgoing than Chris Tropio and her girls.

 

“Damn straight, sir. The boys’ll be trying to cut through the bulkheads before we get to Novo Paveo.”

 

“Wonder what sort of ‘facilities’ are going to be available once we get there? Can’t have the men molesting the local women.”

 

“ _That_ could be a problem, sir, if somebody didn’t think ahead.”

 

Jer frowned as they took their seats on the shuttle. On his apprentice cruise, the shore leaves had been frequent enough to keep the men’s urges under control. But once they were in combat… He wasn’t sure what was going to happen.

 

He filed that away with all his other problems as the shuttle boosted toward orbit.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“So explain to me again exactly who this woman is?” demanded Tej.

 

Ivan sighed. “Admiral Ellie Quinn, commander of the Dendarii Free Mercenaries. She’s an old… friend of Miles’.” He turned his head to look out the shuttle viewport in hopes that his wife would stop acting jealous.

 

“It sounded like she was an old friend of _yours_ , when she saw you on the Cetagandan flagship,” persisted Tej.

 

“ _They_ were lovers, Tej. Her and Miles. I’ve only met her a few times.”

 

“Really?” said Tej in obvious surprise. “She’s very beautiful.”

 

“Miles seems to attract beautiful amazons. Terrifying ones. Believe me, love, she’s not my type at all.”

 

“So I’m not a beautiful, terrifying amazon?”

 

“Beautiful, incredibly, delectably beautiful, but I stopped being terrified of you a couple of years ago. Your family, on the other hand…” Tej finally smiled and punched him in the arm. “And Quinn’s looks are all biosculpt, dear. She got her face burned off by a plasma arc during one of Miles’ little adventures and he bought her a new one.”

 

“Ick. So she really is a combat officer?”

 

“Yeah, and a damn good one, too. She was Miles’ second in command for years and then took over when he was forced to retire.”

 

“So what are she and her mercenaries doing here? And why are we having dinner with her on her ship?”

 

Ivan hesitated. His current ‘mission’ was classified, and he wasn’t sure how much he ought to reveal to Tej. Still, Ambassador Vorpinski had been using Tej’s language skills so much during the trip that she was virtually part of his staff. And with her Jacksonian upbringing, she was very familiar with the concept of security. He could trust her to keep her mouth shut. “The Dendarii are here because the Polians hired them to flesh out their part of the expedition. I guess they didn’t want to get their own forces all dirty and rumpled. There are a couple of other mercenary outfits with the fleet, too, for that matter. But as for why we’re meeting with Quinn… For about ten years Miles was their commander, but he was acting under deep cover for ImpSec.”

 

“Ah ha…” said Tej.

 

“Yeah. The Dendarii pretended to be a free company, but they were really working for ImpSec. It’s all too complicated to go into here, but that’s how it was. The Dendarii were Simon Illyan’s secret army in the Nexus. Most of the stuff they pulled off I still don’t know about, but if you do a data search on them you can find out about some of their more notorious… er, famous exploits.”

 

“But your cousin is retired, you said. Do they still work for ImpSec?”

 

“Apparently so. After Quinn took over, ImpSec used them very sparingly for a while. Miles’ cover was already in tatters and a lot of folks were getting suspicious of the Dendarii. I gather that Quinn has managed to convince people that with Miles’ departure the Dendarii have no connection with Barrayar anymore. But I’m informed that the connection is still there.”

 

“So why are meeting with her? Won’t that just tend to make people suspicious again?”

 

“You’d think so,” said Ivan shrugging. “But in the convoluted and contorted minds of the intelligence people, they are counting on the opposition figuring that this contact is so obvious and so clumsy that it can’t actually be what it is. So they’ll just assume that it is no more than it seems: a social meeting between old friends.”

 

“Hmmph!” snorted Tej. “I can’t imagine this fooling anyone!”

 

“Probably not,” agreed Ivan. “But I can’t see that it really matters. This is all pretty routine stuff. No great secrets being passed along. We have dinner, chat, Quinn gives me a data chip and we go back to the flagship. Simple.”

 

“Why not just tight-beam it?”

 

“Could be intercepted. And even in code, someone could tell by the size of the message that it was more than just a hello.”

 

“But…”

 

“Look, Tej, this wasn’t my idea! We were ordered to go, so we’re going, okay?”

 

“All right, all right. Let’s get it over with.”

 

The conversation died and Ivan was not willing to try resuscitation. He couldn’t believe that Tej was actually jealous of Quinn! Good God, the woman had shown nothing but contempt for him the few times she ever deigned to show anything at all. He was quite certain that Quinn’s friendly banter on the Cetagandan flagship was nothing more than an attempt by her to make Tej jealous and give him a hard time. _Well go right ahead and try! I’ve got the girl of my dreams and look at you: your true love is married to someone else and has four kids!_ He looked out the viewport and watched as Quinn’s flagship, the _Peregrine_ , grew larger and larger. He put aside his irritation and settled a look of smug satisfaction on his face.

 

Dinner was entirely unremarkable.

 

The food was okay, although not up to the standards of Ambassador Vorpinski’s table. The service was adequate, but militarily utilitarian rather than stylish. And the conversation…

 

Quinn had included her flag captain and the liaison officer from the Polians as dinner guests, so there were no secrets being talked about! Or not really. Quinn made no attempt to hide her past connection with Miles and even reminisced about some of their missions together. She asked a lot of questions about Miles’ job as Imperial Auditor and about his wife and children. Ivan actually found himself pulling out his computer pad and calling up pictures of the kids—something he wouldn’t have been caught dead doing not so long ago.

 

And Quinn didn’t ignore Tej, either. She asked endless questions about her life on Jackson’s Whole and the incredibly complicated political situation there. To Ivan’s amazement Quinn mentioned several of the Dendarii’s missions on Jackson’s Whole—several of which Miles had never mentioned to Ivan. And to his horror she even talked about the disastrous attempt by Miles’ clone brother, Mark, to steal away a batch of fellow clones who were destined to be killed in the notorious brain-transplant industry that existed on the Whole.

 

“It is a rather ugly business,” conceded Tej. “My house has never had anything to do with it.”

 

“Well, I suppose I’m in no position to condemn anyone,” said Quinn, with a shrug. “After all, I kill people for money, too. But Mark managed to get Miles killed with his stupid stunt and I can’t quite forgive him for that. We might be mercenaries, but we watch out for our own.” She paused and looked down at her plate for a moment. “And Miles wasn’t the only one killed that day. There were others, and we didn’t get them all back.”

 

“That’s very interesting, Admiral,” said the Polian officer. The man had said very little so far. “Naturally, we have a full dossier on the Dendarii’s missions—including those you did working for ImpSec—but I don’t recall this one being in it.”

 

“That’s because officially it never happened—even from ImpSec’s point of view.”

 

“I was only a child when Baron Ryoval was killed,” said Tej. “I never heard the full story before.”

 

“I’m not sure anyone even knows the full story. Miles and Mark both kept things back. And I’m sure Elena knew something she never told me, too.” She glanced at Ivan. Elena Bothari-Jesek had been a childhood playmate of his.

 

“I would imagine that Simon Illyan found it all out eventually,” said the Polian. “His reputation for thoroughness is formidable. How did you find working for him, Admiral?”

 

“Stimulating,” said Quinn with a twisted smile. Ivan snorted and Quinn’s flag captain shook his head. “Some of our most… fascinating missions came from him, but frankly I’m glad to be done with him.”

 

“Of course Illyan doesn’t run ImpSec anymore,” said the Polian.

 

“True. But Tej, I’m dying to hear how your father managed to hoodwink the old spook. I’ve read the news stories, of course, but I imagine there is a lot more to it than that!”

 

Reluctantly, Tej told the story of the notorious treasure hunt on Barrayar that led to the restoration of her father as a baron on Jackson’s Whole, to her staying married to Ivan and, incidentally, to the sinking of the ImpSec headquarters building into twenty meters of mud in the middle of Vorbar Sultana. By the end of it everyone at the table except Ivan and Tej were laughing.

 

“Oh, that is priceless!” gasped Quinn. “But you know, what I find the most amazing thing about it is that Miles wasn’t involved at all! Normally I would have expected to find him buried up to his eyebrows in something like that!”

 

“I guess it was my turn,” muttered Ivan.

 

“But speaking of turns,” said Quinn’s flag captain, “I have to get back to the bridge. If you will all excuse me.” He started to rise.

 

“Actually,” said Quinn, “I think it’s time for us to wrap this up, as pleasant as it’s been.” She got to her feet and everyone else did as well. She turned to Ivan. “Well, this was fun. Thank you for dropping by. Perhaps we’ll meet again at some staff meeting. And do say hello to Miles for me when you see him again.” She turned abruptly and walked out with her flag captain. The Polian glanced back for a moment but then followed. Another Dendarii officer appeared as from nowhere and escorted them back to the shuttle bay.

 

Ivan and Tej stayed silent until they were back on the shuttle and headed for the flagship. “Well that was… odd,” said Tej, finally.

 

“Yeah,” agreed Ivan. “And she didn’t even give me anything.”

 

“I thought that was the whole reason for this junket!”

 

“Maybe something went wrong and she couldn’t pass me the chip. Vorpinski is going to be pissed.”

 

“Or maybe the data was on a micro-chip put in your wine and _you’ll_ have to piss it out when we get back,” suggested Tej.

 

“I wouldn’t put it past her,” grumbled Ivan.

 

Bur Ambassador Vorpinski wasn’t pissed at all. When Ivan met him in his office he smiled and said: “Well done, Ivan.”

 

“Sir?” replied Ivan in confusion. “I… I didn’t get Admiral Quinn’s report.”

 

“No, but we did. While the Polian and whatever spies they have on Quinn’s flagship were watching you and Tej like hawks, one of Quinn’s hanger techs passed the chip off to your pilot.”

 

“Who is ImpSec,” said Ivan, nodding.

 

“Of course.”

 

Ivan shrugged and let out his breath. “Glad it worked out. Hope you got some good stuff from Quinn.”

 

Vorpinski shook his head. “Probably pretty routine, I imagine. We—and everyone else in the fleet—are just keeping an eye on what people are doing. So far as we can tell, everyone seems to be behaving themselves. How long that will go on once we reach Novo Paveo is anyone’s guess.”

 

Ivan nodded. He supposed he ought to be angry that he’d been used as a decoy, but he knew that those sorts of things happened and it really was routine. God knew Miles had used him as a cat’s-paw often enough!

 

“And only two more weeks until we get there,” continued Vorpinski. “I think that…”

 

Vorpinski was suddenly interrupted by an awful noise that Ivan recognized as the battle stations alarm. This was confirmed a moment later by a voice on the speakers. The ambassador’s eyebrows shot up. “I don’t believe that any drills were scheduled for today. This might be the real thing.”

 

It was possible, Ivan supposed. The EnBees could have naval forces pushed out along the jump routes leading to Novo Paveo. The question was how big a force? Just a picket to give warning, or an ambush force… or a battle fleet. “What do we do, sir?”

 

“Let’s stroll up to the flag bridge and see what’s happening, why don’t we? The worst the admiral can do is ask us to leave.”

 

Not having any other duty in a situation like this, Ivan followed along after Vorpinski. The corridors of the _Prince Serg_ were initially crowded with scrambling, shouting, cursing crewmen trying to get to their battle stations. But as they neared the flag bridge, the crowd vanished and except for a half-armored trooper standing guard at the hatch, the place seemed deserted. A steady series of reports were coming over a speaker: _…Engineering spaces, manned and ready… Damage control parties, manned and ready… portside weapons, manned and ready… All stations, manned and ready, the ship is cleared for action._

The sentry hesitated for a moment before letting them through, but he did and the hatch slid open to admit them. Admiral Vorburke was there with members of his staff studying an enormous holo-display. A myriad of small lights waltzed and pirouetted like glowflies on a summer night. The admiral glanced at them as they came abreast of him. “Trouble?” asked Vorpinski.

 

“No,” said Vorburke, shaking his head. “But we’ve been spotted.” He gestured toward the display. “A small task force near the wormhole we’re heading for. A few cruisers and frigates; no threat to the fleet, but almost certainly EnBees.”

 

“Admiral, one of the bogies just jumped,” said one of the officers.

 

“And they are spreading the alarm,” nodded Vorburke.

 

“Well!” said Vorpinski. “I guess things are going to get interesting from here on.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Colonel Fetherbay, we will be dropping the 61st west of Araxa, here, here, and… here.” Alby Vorsworth watched as the commander of the BEF ground Forces, Colonel-General Vordanov, highlighted three areas on the map of Novo Paveo that took up one wall of the briefing room. “Each of your battalions will secure a beachhead and defend the landing zone for follow-up forces.”

 

The flagship’s main briefing room was packed with officers. The general and his staff, the two brigade commanders and their staffs and the regimental commanders and their staffs filled the room. Alby sat behind Fetherbay, making notes on his computer pad.

 

“Yes, sir,” said Fetherbay. “But according to these briefing documents, the follow-up forces in my 1st battalion zone will not be Barrayaran? Is that correct, sir?”

 

“Yes. As you know, many of the contingents don’t have the sort of assault troops that we do to carve out landing zones. So we are helping them out. Your 1st battalion will be followed up by a mixed brigade of Earth troops. Two infantry battalions, a light armor battalion and an artillery battalion. They’re good troops and once they are down will be able to support your men strongly. I don’t think you have anything to worry about. And you’ll have fire support from orbit if you need it.”

 

Alby nodded to himself. The fleet had control of the space around the planet. The naval battle for the Novo Paveo system had been brief and very one-sided. The enemy ships they had encountered two weeks earlier along the jump routes had retreated in front of the fleet without trying to give battle. Clearly, they were just a trip-wire force to give warning to their companions. But the question on everyone’s mind had been: what would be waiting at the end of that last jump? Trying to jump through a heavily defended wormhole was one of the most dangerous and most challenging military operations there was. If the defenders had powerful forces and the will to slug it out toe-to-toe with the attacker, they had the potential to inflict devastating losses. The attacker’s options were limited. If you sent a small recon force through to see what was waiting for you, you ran the risk of losing the ships before they could jump back through the wormhole to report—you’d lose the ships and get nothing in return. A stronger recon force had a better chance of getting someone back with the information, but only at the risk of losing that many more ships. Or, you could throw caution to the wind and send your whole force into the wormhole as rapidly as possible and just blast your way through. All three methods had been used dozens of times throughout history and with a wide range of success—and failure.

 

No one in the fleet had expected a flat-out failure. In order to keep their grand plans a secret, the EnBees had not constructed any formidable permanent defenses to guard the wormhole exit. Most of the great powers had enormously powerful space stations and weapons platforms guarding their strategic wormholes, but those would have been a dead giveaway that the EnBees were up to something in this supposedly minor colony. Even so, the information from Novo Paveo was many months old now and there was no knowing what the EnBees might have built or brought in by their back-door route. They had gotten enough warning of the expedition’s departure that they could have sent strong reinforcements. All the intelligence officers were confident that whatever was waiting couldn’t be too powerful. The expeditionary fleet was larger than the entire Nuevo Brasilian Navy and no one could imagine the EnBees sending everything they had on a five-month voyage away from home—especially since several of the alliance members had been making menacing moves on the EnBee’s borders to tie down their forces. Even so, making that last jump had been a ticklish proposition.

 

The fleet had paused on the near side of that jump for several days. ‘Deliberating’ the admirals said. _Dithering_ was Alby’s description of it. Of course, he’d admitted that making the decision was a whole lot easier when it wasn’t _his_ decision to make. He wasn’t sure what he’d have done if the lives of thousands of people had been in his hands.

 

In the end, the council of admirals—and unfortunately, it _was_ a council: no one person was really in charge—had decided on Option Three: full speed ahead and keep your fingers crossed. Alby had kept his fingers crossed and fortunately, it had proved to be the right decision. The EnBees had obviously been dithering, too. They’d kept a squadron powerful enough to gobble up a small scouting force near the wormhole exit, but they hadn’t been willing to commit their whole force. And their whole force had been pretty impressive, including several battleships. If they had all been ready and waiting by the exit, the expedition would have been forced to pay a high price. But the problem with such a move was that if the attackers had enough ships—as they did—then the defenders would have had no hope of withdrawing from that close range fight when the odds turned against them. They might have taken twice their strength with them, but in the end they would have been annihilated. The EnBees hadn’t been willing to sacrifice themselves in that manner. So the expeditionary fleet had pushed its way through, lost a few small ships, destroyed a few small ships of the enemy, and taken control of the wormhole exit.

 

The enemy had fallen back, first to Novo Paveo, and then to their back-door wormhole exit. Ultimately, when their pursuers had gotten close, most of them had made the jump to wherever that wormhole led to. A number of their smaller ships had fled into the outer system rather than jump. They were still out there, keeping an eye on things.

 

The main fleet had moved into orbit around Novo Paveo and caught up with the situation on the ground. Unfortunately, it wasn’t good. In the period since the rebel envoys had left to seek help, the EnBees had brought in a lot of ground troops and pushed the rebels back on almost every front. Indeed, the rebellion was now hanging on by its fingernails in just a few strongholds scattered around the planet. The rest were dead or in hiding. The new EnBee planetary governor insisted that there was no rebellion, no independence movement, just a few scattered terrorists. No assistance was necessary, thank you very much. Now please go away.

 

The expedition’s commanders weren’t buying it, of course. The rebel envoys, returning with the expedition, had been able to make contact with their compatriots on the planet and insisted the rebellion was very much alive—and very much in need of immediate help. Burnt-out towns and unburied bodies, which could be seen from orbit, leant credence to their appeal. Help would be forthcoming.

 

So, the armies would land. The question was: where? Planets are big places, even planets mostly covered by oceans. And while the expedition was bringing a substantial number of troops, there weren’t enough of them to occupy the whole planet. Not even close. So they needed to seize the key locations and then—hopefully!—turn things over to a revitalized rebellion. Alby wasn’t quite sure when the expedition’s mission had changed from peacekeeping to helping the Novo Pavean independence movement succeed, but it seemed pretty clear that it had. Not surprising, really, he supposed. Thwarting the EnBee’s ambitions had always been a major reason for this whole operation, and helping the rebels throw off Nuevo Brasilian rule was the surest way to do that.

 

The biggest objective was the planetary capital of Araxa. It was a good-sized city of about a million people. Or it had been before the rebellion. It had changed hands at least three times during the fighting and was about to change hands again. Alby doubted that a million people lived there now. From the rumors he had heard, there had been quite a kerfuffle among the high command over who would have the honor of liberating Araxa. The result was that just about _everyone_ would be liberating Araxa. Nearly every member of the alliance would have forces involved in that part of the operation—no matter how little military sense that made. Hence the brigade from Earth following the 61 st‘s 1st battalion down.

 

The briefing went on. Other officers had questions and since they didn’t concern Fetherbay’s regiment, Alby relaxed slightly and stopped taking notes. He glanced at Rad Benin, but the Cetagandan was still following the briefing intently. Rad wasn’t a bad fellow, Alby supposed, but he was so damn intense. The Cetagandan forces would be landing east of Araxa and Alby imagined that Rad probably wished he was with them.

 

Alby found himself staring at the painted symbol on Rad’s right cheek. Rad had tried to explain the meaning of the red, white and black pattern. Some sort of clan insignia, but the details eluded him. When the Cetagandan had become his roommate Alby had wondered how the devil he managed to paint a design that complex and how long it took every day. But later he found that Rad cheated. He had an amazing little device with tiny spray nozzles. He just held the thing to his face for a few minutes and presto, the design was perfectly painted every time. Rad admitted that traditional ghem held such devices in disdain and insisted that only hand-painted faces were truly proper, but for a serving officer the auto-painter was a godsend.

 

“Now, as to the expected enemy resistance,” said the general jarring Alby out of his musings. “Colonel Nimick will fill you in.” The G2 officer stood up and pointed to the display.

 

“We are not expecting any serious opposition to our landings,” said Nimick. “And while that might seem like good news, it really isn’t. There is nothing we’d like better than for the EnBees to meet us in an open battle, but the enemy clearly realizes that they cannot win a stand-up fight with us—not with the fleet in orbit and us able to strike wherever we choose. We know from our intelligence sources on the planet that over the last four or five months the EnBees have been pouring in reinforcements and heavy equipment—hence the poor shape of the independence movement—but in the last few weeks, most of those forces have been disappearing. As you know, the EnBees were planning to make Novo Paveo into a major military base for future expansion and as part of that plan they have constructed underground shelters in secret locations that are screened against long-range sensors. We believe that most of their military forces have been retreating to those bases in the face of our arrival.” Nimick paused to let that sink in.

 

“Therefore, we believe that they will not make any serious attempt to oppose our initial landings. Instead, once we have established ourselves in known locations, they will probably initiate a campaign of low-level actions, no doubt in conjunction with loyalists among the civilian population, intended to inflict the maximum number of casualties upon us at the least cost to themselves.”

 

The assembled officers were silent. This wasn’t what they’d been hoping for. No glorious victory and a quick return home. A long, drawn-out campaign against an elusive foe…

 

“What fun,” muttered Alby.

 

 

* * *

 

 

_“Let’s go! Come on, move it! Move it!”_

 

It seemed to Anny that every NCO and junior officer in the battalion was shouting that same message. It was completely unnecessary, of course. The invasion had been planned to the split second and the shuttles would not be launching for another fifteen minutes and the de-orbit insertions wouldn’t happen for another half hour after that. They had plenty of time to get the men aboard the shuttles.

 

But the NCO’s and junior officers shouted all the same.

 

Still, she could hardly blame them; after more than four months aboard ship everyone was itching for action—any kind of action. She, herself, though not itching for combat, was eager for anything to break the routine that had been forced upon them for so long. Her troops were bored and restless and she had to admit she was, too. She found herself giving a couple of shouts along with the rest.

 

“Just like a drill, people! Find your spots, secure your gear and get buckled in. Stubinski! Lulubelle is _not_ coming with us today! Leave her with the quartermaster!”

 

Her platoon boarded the assault shuttle and strapped themselves into their assigned seats. Anny’s place was right next to the rear ramp. She would be the first one out. In the assault regiments the officers led the way. Perhaps not the most tactically astute thing to do, but tradition demanded it, and it was good for morale for the men to see their officer out in front. Sergeant Kay finished up with something and then seated himself opposite her. “All secure, ready to drop, sir,” he said, smiling in satisfaction.

 

Anny ran her eyes over her platoon and then did so again on her status displays. Everything looked green although her men’s heart rates and respiration were all elevated. Well, so were hers. After all this time and all the drills this was the real thing. And nearly all her troops were seeing combat for the first time.

 

_If there is any combat._

 

The latest briefings indicated that the EnBees probably wouldn’t try to oppose the landings. They’d lay low for now and try to hit back later. A lot of the men—and more than a few officers—had voiced their disappointment, but Anny wasn’t one of them. She knew exactly how harrowing a drop under fire could be. An unopposed landing was perfectly fine with her!

 

For one thing it meant that she had her whole platoon in one shuttle. When serious opposition was expected they would usually try to split platoon between two shuttles on the ‘too many eggs in one basket’ theory. But there was a serious shortage of assault shuttles in the fleet and with the predicted lack of opposition, the higher-ups had decided to go with the double-loading. It was a risk, but Anny had never liked the idea of having half her platoon at the mercy of chance or some disoriented shuttle pilot.

 

A series of thumps and clanks told her that launch was imminent. “All right, third platoon! Here we go! Visors down! Check your seals!” She followed her own order and the armored visor on her helmet swung down and her status display confirmed there was an airtight seal. Assault shuttles had a nasty habit of getting holes poked in them and losing pressure. A few moments later the shuttle pilot announced: “Standby, launching in five… four… three… two… one… now!”

 

There was a sideways lurch and then a steady acceleration. As an officer, Anny had the enviable privilege of tying into the shuttle’s exterior video pickups. And the image wasn’t just some tiny window in a heads-up display. The neural interface in the armor allowed her to see as if she actually outside the shuttle, bareheaded.

 

And the sight was breathtaking.

 

The vast armada was all around her. Many of the ships were just bright specks, but others were close enough to see clearly. Hundreds of smaller objects were being disgorged from the larger ones—assault shuttles, vehicle landers, small craft of all sorts. They looked like flocks of birds. It was impressive as hell. Barrayar hadn’t conducted an operation like this since the Escobar invasion forty years earlier.

 

She was suddenly struck by the incredible amount of _effort_ that had gone into this. Every ship, every shuttle, every tank and gun and piece of equipment from the smallest to the largest had to be made by someone. Every man and woman aboard the vessels had been painstakingly trained and prepared for this moment. And then it all had to be transported across distances too vast for human minds to really grasp. She found herself tingling.

 

Novo Paveo turned below her and its enormous moon was just rising beyond the curve of the planet. By this time Anny had seen quite a few different worlds, and while it was true that you couldn’t judge one just by its looks any more than you could a person, this one looked pretty good: blue seas, fluffy white clouds and green and brown land masses. Humans could live there without any artificial aids and that was always a good thing.

 

But the enemy was down there… waiting.

 

She looked again at the massed power of the fleet. _What could possible stop us? The EnBees will be sorry they waited! They’ll wish they’d run instead!_

 

The shuttles were sorting themselves out and moving into formation and those formations were setting themselves into the trajectories that would take them down to their targets. The sixteen shuttles carrying the 1st Battalion, 61st Regiment of Imperial Infantry, were closing in around Anny. An endless stream of chatter between pilots and controllers aboard the bigger ships flowed past Anny’s ears but finally the message she’d been waiting for came: “Stand by for acceleration. De-orbit burns in thirty seconds.”

 

Reluctantly, she withdrew from her god-like grandstand and checked over her platoon again. They were all just as she had last seen them. At least they were per the status display. She clicked to the ‘visors up’ mode to see their facial expressions. She winced when she saw that fully half the platoon had managed to disable that feature in their armor. Someone had figured out how to do that a few months earlier and it had been spreading like some disease, despite stern warning not to do it. Another great idea defeated by reality. Those troopers she could see looked excited and a little scared.

 

A strong jolt of acceleration hit her as the thrusters fired. It lasted for about thirty seconds and then faded. “Okay, we’re on our way down,” she announced. “Hang on: this might get a little rough.”

 

Nothing happened for several minutes, but then there was a slight vibration that quickly grew as the shuttle encountered the steadily thickening air. Anny switched to the exterior view again, but could see nothing except a white blur. Her tactical display was more informative and the battalion’s shuttles seemed to be right in the groove. The landing zone was just beyond the horizon.

 

An announcement came over the command circuit: “Pathfinders have landed, no resistance reported.” A few dozen troopers had been sent in ahead of the main landing, using ablative pods rather than shuttles. Their task was to make sure that no traps or ambushes were waiting for those who followed.

 

Anny felt a tinge of guilt—not that there had been no resistance, but that she wasn’t down there already. As the only one in the regiment who had actually made a combat landing using the pods, she had volunteered to lead the pathfinders. The Colonel had thanked her but turned her down. She had been simultaneously relieved and disappointed.

 

The vibrations that had been buffeting the shuttle slowly faded. “Going subsonic,” announced their pilot. “ETA, two minutes.”

 

“Okay, get ready!” she ordered. “When we touch down, I want an empty shuttle in twenty seconds!” Anny tensed: this was the most critical moment. If the enemy did have any surprises in store, they would unleash them now, when the shuttles were low, slow, and filled with troops. She remembered the near-disaster on Dounby where they’d almost lost Alby and a bunch of other troopers when their shuttles were hit moments before landing.

 

But the seconds passed and nothing hit them and the ground grew nearer and nearer. Her armored hand went up to her chest and the instant she felt the shuttle touch ground she slapped her harness release and surged to her feet. The rear door was already swinging open. “Let’s go!” she shouted and sprang forward.

 

Her boots thumped down on the soil of Novo Paveo, but her eyes were on her tactical display. C Company was on the eastern edge of the battalion’s landing zone, facing the city of Araxa, which was about ten kilometers away. She could just make out a few tall buildings in the distance. Her troopers were out of the shuttle in the required twenty seconds and began fanning out in an arc that would link up with the other companies of 1st Battalion, enclosing a landing zone for the follow-up forces. The weapons company would form a central reserve and there was an attached sapper platoon who would do a thorough scan of the area for hostile booby-traps.

 

The landing zone was two kilometers in diameter, give or take, and allowing for company and platoon reserves, that meant about 20 meters of perimeter for each man. Anny’s platoon was stretched into a thin line almost 800 meters long. Not too bad, really. Prescribed spacing in most situations was about ten meters per man. They’d practiced this deployment a hundred times in the simulators and now her men moved to their positions with hardly a word needed from her or the squad leaders.

 

“First squad, in position. No contact.”

 

Her other two squads reported the same and she clicked the command circuit to Captain Vorstang: “Third Platoon, on assigned positions. No contact, sir.” Switching back to her platoon circuit she commanded: “Okay, Third Platoon, on your toes. Just because they didn’t meet us at the door doesn’t mean nobody’s home. They may just be waiting for the follow-up forces. Stay alert!”

 

But a quarter hour passed with nothing to report. She bounced up and down her line checking on the men, but they were all in position, making use of what cover was available. They had landed in some sort of park with open fields, patches of woods, and some athletic facilities. The latter appeared to have been looted and the sports fields hadn’t been mowed in a long time. They had seen no signs of any civilians.

 

She wondered how Jer was doing with 3rd Battalion. The few messages that had been passed through from higher up indicated that everyone else was meeting pretty much the same situation as C Company.

 

One of the pathfinders came through her lines and headed for battalion HQ and a little while later a sapper detachment moved up from the rear with their scanners. They placed a few sensors just beyond her front and then prepared to leave again.

 

“Finding anything?” she asked the sergeant in charge.

 

“A couple of scanner relays. Not sure if they were meant for us or were just leftovers from something earlier. We disabled them. No dirty tricks that we could find. Place looks clear, sir.”

 

“Good.” The sappers moved off.

 

“Attention 1st Battalion! Second wave is on approach. ETA ten minutes. Stay alert!” The message came direct from Major Vorglanov. “If the EnBees have any tricks planned, this is probably when they’ll use them.” Anny made sure that her men were on guard and that the squad leaders were paying attention to both their men and their sensor read-outs. A few moments later a notification came through from the air-defense platoon in the weapons company that they were linking all the troopers into their network. This effectively turned each man into a point-defense turret. In the event of a missile attack, every suit of battle armor would automatically try to fire at the incoming ordnance. It was not the sort of thing you would do during an active battle, but in a purely defensive posture like this, it could expand the air-defense envelope significantly.

 

Time passed and Anny’s tactical display showed the reinforcements approaching. Most of them were not in the speedy assault shuttles, but in larger, clumsier landing boats of one sort or another. They would make very good targets if anything was ready to fire at them…

 

But nothing did, and a few minutes later she could actually see a swarm of large shapes settling toward the ground to her rear. Messages over the com channels indicated a certain level of confusion, but no alarm. The reinforcements were coming in unmolested. Or at least these were. There were indications of some fighting over in the Cetagandan sector, but apparently nothing too serious.

 

Nearly an hour went by before the word came that they would be moving out. One of the incoming battalions would take over the landing zone security and the 1st Battalion of the 61st would join the Earth brigade in an advance on Araxa. The plan called for one company of the assault troopers to work with each of the Earth battalions. C Company would be going with the 48th Highlanders—who were moving up behind them even now.

 

“All right,” commanded Captain Vorstang, “on your feet! Platoon commanders make contact with your opposite numbers and get ready to move out.”

 

“Here they come, sir,” said Sergeant Kay, who had come up beside her. Suddenly he pointed. “What the hell is _that_?”

 

A line of infantry emerged from the trees but Kay was pointing at one particular soldier who was leading the way. He was wearing light combat armor, as were all the others, but he was also wearing a knee-length skirt of outlandish plaid fabric and holding a very… _strange_ … object that was making a terrible racket. As he got closer, Anny could see that it was a sort of sack and the man was blowing into it through a long tube.

 

He came right up to her and stopped walking and—thankfully--blowing. Another man with officer’s insignia approached. “Are you Lieutenant Payne?” he asked.

 

She flipped up her visor and saluted. “Yes sir. And you are Captain MacAllister?”

 

“That I am, Lassie. Well, let’s be about it, shall we?”

 

“Yes, sir. Third platoon, move out!”

 

She turned and led her troopers forward. Behind her he heard MacAllister command: “Millin! Blue Bonnet! The rest of you rascals come on! _Dileas Gu Brath!”_ The Earthers gave a loud cheer and followed. The man with the sack-thing began blowing again and Anny moved away as quickly as she could.

 

Her troopers formed a skirmish line in front of the Highlanders, perhaps two hundred meters ahead. Her tactical display showed the whole force expanding outward from the landing zone. One of the Earth battalions had some light tanks, but they were holding back for the moment. There was a unit of self propelled artillery as well. And if it really hit the fan they had a unit of forward observers trained to bring down fire from orbit.

 

So they were ready, but so far they hadn’t encountered a single thing worth shooting at. They left the parkland behind and moved through a suburban residential district. The houses looked deserted and looted and several had been burned. Their sensors revealed nothing dangerous—or living. They covered a few kilometers…

 

“Lieutenant! Lieutenant Payne!” It was Sergeant Rollins, 3rd Squad.

 

“Payne here, what have you got?”

 

“Over here, sir! Two hundred meters to your right.”

 

“Trouble?” She checked her sensors, but everything still looked quiet. She headed in that direction without waiting for an answer.

 

“N-no, sir. Not for us anyway. But you might want to come see this.”

 

“On my way.”

 

She bounced over and saw Rollins and two other troopers on the edge of a ravine. She came up beside them, looked down, and swallowed hard.

 

The ravine was full of bodies.

 

A couple of hundred at least. They’d obviously been there a long time and the flesh had mostly fallen or been picked off their bones. Dark stains covered their tattered clothing. Men, women, children. No uniforms. Not soldiers. Some of the skulls showed obvious weapons hits.

 

She tore her eyes away and clicked her command circuit. “Captain? We’ve found several hundred bodies. I’ve marked the location on your display. Do you want to tie into my video, sir?”

 

“Acknowledged. Negative on the video.” Vorstang’s voice was utterly expressionless. “Continue your advance. You… you’ll probably find more, Lieutenant.”

 

_More? But… God, then we aren’t the first to find something like this?_

While she stood there, Captain MacAllister caught up with her. “What’s going on, Lassie…? _Bloody Hell!”_

 

She looked back at him.

 

“Welcome to Novo Paveo.”

 

 

 

 

**End of Book 2**


	4. Lieutenants Part 4

**Second Interlude**

 

 

 

Lord Auditor Miles Vorkosigan looked at the face of his emperor and inwardly grimaced. Gregor looked… tired. The burden of ruling the Barrayaran empire had never rested lightly on his shoulders. He took the responsibility he bore so _very_ seriously. This was clearly a lesson he’d learned from Miles’ father during his years as regent for the young Gregor and then later as his prime minister. Aral Vorkosigan had let the burden use him up. War, insurrection, politics and sorrow had drained him. He wasn’t _that_ old, but Miles could not help but think of the ancient white-haired man he saw in the vids he got these days from his parents on Sergyar. With galactic medicine available to him, his father ought to live another thirty years, but he looked so tired… just like Gregor. Was Gregor headed down that same road? Used up at seventy? _What about you, kid? Are you going to be used up at fifty?_ It was something he tried not to think about. Especially since he felt duty-bound to try and ease Gregor’s burden as much as he could.

 

“Miles?” He twitched when he realized that Gregor was looking at him. “What do you think?”

 

“Uh…” What had they been talking about?

 

“About Vordalla’s request to pull those ships out of Novo Paveo,” hinted Gregor gently.

 

“Oh. Well, it is true that the fleet doesn’t have a lot to do way out there. There’s no sign that the EnBees are planning a large counterattack through that wormhole. And it is just a cruiser squadron Vordalla’s asking for. That still leaves Admiral Vorburke a powerful force in case of emergencies. And a lot of the other contingents have already sent ships home. We wouldn’t be the first.”

 

“I know,” said the Emperor, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his right temple. They were in his private office with several of his ministers for a weekly conference that somehow Miles had become a member of. “But I’m worried about the effect on the morale of the troops we have on the planet. They’ve been there six months, fighting a series of nasty little skirmishes and with no end in sight. How are they going to feel if they see some of their comrades allowed to go home while they are stuck there?”

 

“We were talking about rotating the troops. Sending in fresh units and allowing the ones there to come home.”

 

“That could prove to be extremely costly, Sire,” said Lord Vorglas, the treasury minister. “Just sending the forces already there supplies and replacements is costing thirty percent more than the initial forecasts. Sending whole new regiments and withdrawing the others would cost far more.”

 

“So we just leave our men there to bleed?” asked Gregor frostily. “For how long?”

 

Vorglas shrugged. “That is a matter of strategy at the highest level. As Your Highness may recall, I opposed this venture from the start.”

 

Miles frowned and remembered Gregor’s own doubts before this was all decided upon. The expedition was starting to look like a bit of a fiasco. The alliance had descended on Novo Paveo with overwhelming force and it should have been a cakewalk. But the EnBees were not cooperating. Instead of standing out in the open and getting crushed like they were supposed to, they had retreated to hidden bases and were fighting a guerrilla war. Death squads had so thoroughly terrorized the populace before the alliance arrived that the anticipated popular support for their liberators had not materialized. The independence movement, whose ambassadors had started this whole thing with calls for aid, was technically back in power, but their government was corrupt and ineffectual with no hope of surviving without the military backing of the alliance.

 

And the alliance was beginning to fray. Ships and troops were being withdrawn and promised supplies and aid to the locals were not being received. Barrayar and the Cetagandans were—so far—standing firm, neither one willing to give the other the leading role, but others were calling it quits.

 

“So, remind me: how was this thing supposed to end?” asked Gregor wearily. “It has been suggested by some of Vordalla’s analysts that we send another task force, perhaps another reinforced division, to Novo Paveo. We make a great deal of this in the press, produce a lot of smoke and flames for a year or so, declare victory, and then bring everyone home—no matter what the actual situation on the ground looks like. Opinions?”

 

“Could be damned embarrassing if we do that, pull out, and the Cetagandans stay,” growled the Foreign Minister. “We only got into this… situation to counter their move. If we leave them in control, then what was the point?”

 

“In control of what?” asked Miles. “A planet being reduced to rubble by civil war and our good intentions? After their experience here on Barrayar and again on Marilac, I can’t see them wanting to be left holding another no-win situation.”

 

“You really think it is a no-win situation, Miles?” asked Gregor.

 

“It’s starting to look that way,” he admitted. “We simply don’t have enough troops to occupy the whole planet and let the friendly locals put their house in order. If we try to occupy the maximum territory then we’re spread too thin to resist serious attacks by the EnBee loyalists and commandos. Tiny garrisons can get gobbled up like what happened to that Escobaran company a few months ago. If we stay concentrated then we concede the bulk of the planet to the EnBees. We’ve got more firepower and more mobility, but it doesn’t do much good to sweep into some area and then leave again. The locals aren’t going to trust us to protect them after our troops move on.”

 

“So is there an answer?”

 

Miles shrugged. “I had a dinner discussion with Auditor Vorthys and his wife, the Professora, the other night. I invited Duv Galeni and we did a little brainstorming about this.” Gregor raised an eyebrow and made a ‘do-go-on’ gesture. “The Professora’s historical anecdotes were not terribly encouraging. This sort of situation was all too common in Old Earth history and they rarely ended well. The EnBees stand to lose a great deal if the independence movement succeeds, considering all the resources they poured into their colony, but at the moment they are expending almost nothing, while the alliance is spending hand over fist. If they have the patience to try and wait us out, it’s even money they’ll win in the end—not that it will be much of a prize by then, of course. Short of a direct war with Nuevo Brasilia at this end, there’s not really any decisive move we can make.”

 

“As you say: not very encouraging,” sighed Gregor. “Did you come up with _any_ useful ideas?”

 

“Vorthys was intrigued by the planet’s enormous tides and he and Duv got into a discussion about how the oceans divided the planet into a number of small, distinct battlefields rather than one big one. They theorized that if we were to fully occupy an island, root out all the opposition forces, prevent them from coming back, and give the locals the means to defend themselves, then we might be able to pacify the place one tiny nibble at a time.”

 

“Do you think that could work?”

 

“I don’t know. But right now we’re just chasing our tails and not accomplishing much of anything. This might be worth a try.”

 

“All right,” said the Emperor. “I’ll pass this along to Vordalla and see what he thinks of it.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“How much longer do you think we’ll be staying here, Ivan Xav?” asked Tej. She ran her finger along his bare arm until he twitched and grabbed her hand.

 

“Stop that. You know it tickles!”

 

“Yes, I do,” she purred. “And I’ll keep doing it until you answer my question.”

 

Her husband rolled over in the bed to face her. “Getting bored with this place?”

 

“A little maybe. It’s been what? Nine months?”

 

“About that.” Ivan Xav gave a long sigh and rolled back to stare at the ceiling of their quarters aboard the Barrayaran flagship. “I don’t know, Love, I really don’t know. We had another full staff meeting this morning. Vorpinski and Admiral Vorburke and General Vordanov and all their people were there.”

 

He didn’t go on and after a moment she poked him. “So what did you all talk about?”

 

“Oh, mostly all the same stuff we always talk about. First the military reports. All the recent ground operations have been generally successful—if your definition of success is that they took the objectives assigned to them, hurt the enemy a bit, and didn’t get hurt too badly in return. The navy is doing its job ‘successfully’, too. They have complete control of the space around Novo Paveo and can come and go as they please.”

 

“Well, that sounds good…”

 

“Yeah, but if your definition of success is to make measurable progress toward winning the damn war, then well…” Ivan Xav shorted in disgust. “And then—just as it always does—the meeting degenerated into bitching about President Rodrigues and his gang.”

 

“He’s really that bad?”

 

Her husband shrugged. “There’s no doubt he’s corrupt. At least half of all the money we’re giving him to build an army and rebuild the economy here is going into his pocket, or the pockets of his cronies.”

 

Tej blinked. It was still difficult to understand the way governments functioned in the galaxy beyond Jackson’s Whole. Her initial reaction to Ivan Xav’s statement about the money going into Rodrigues’ pocket was: ‘where else would it go?’ The barons who ran the Whole were absolute rulers of their respective domains. Any and all funds coming in belonged to them and them alone. How they used those funds was entirely up to them. Of course if they didn’t spend the money wisely, where it was needed, then, well, they probably wouldn’t remain baron—or even alive—for very long.

 

“Can’t the alliance just get rid of him? Put someone else in his place?”

 

“Like who?” Her husband’s voice was sharp and he instantly realized it. “Sorry. Just my frustration showing through. Believe me, we’ve talked about getting rid of him, but there just isn’t anyone else who wouldn’t be twice as bad.”

 

“How did he end up president if he’s so corrupt?”

“By outliving everyone else, Love. The original leader of the ‘independence movement’ had been the planetary governor, Vizconde Antoni Mendoza.”

 

“I’m aware of that, Ivan Xav. I’ve read the briefing books, too, you know.”

 

“Well, now that we’ve been here a while, ImpSec has managed to piece together the background story. It seems that Mendoza had long planned to seize control of Novo Paveo away from his masters back on Nuevo Brasilia and set up his own little empire here in the back of beyond. He’d been hoping to delay his move until the secret base facilities and factories were completed, giving him the means to build his own army and navy. But when Mendoza received word that his masters were growing suspicious and planned to replace him, he was forced to act early. He did it during the change of command ceremony itself. Mendoza assassinated the new governor and wiped out his entire party. _That_ bit of showmanship tells you more about the man than all the rest of the ImpSec dossier combined. A lighting campaign to follow up also eliminated most of the feared secret police, the JDS.”

“Oh, I did hear something about them,” said Tej. “The _Justiceiros da Stateus,_ to give them their local name. A very nasty group, apparently. But he obviously didn’t get them all. I’ve heard about how they’ve terrorized the local population.”

 

“Those were new ones who showed up later,” said Ivan Xav. “Mendoza had been counting on the support of the young people, the ones born on Novo Paveo, and while he got that, there were still millions who had emigrated from Nuevo Brasilia and who had been thoroughly indoctrinated to be loyal to the mother world. These rallied to the few loyalist leaders who escaped Mendoza’s purge, and he was unable to seize the entire planet at a blow. The fighting surged back and forth, but while the loyalists could expect reinforcements, Mendoza’s forces could not. Without outside help, Mendoza was doomed. Someone in his inner circle recognized that fact and assassinated him, thinking to save himself.”

 

“Understandable,” said Tej. That sort of thing happened on Jackson’s Whole from time to time when a baron overreached himself.

 

“But the rebellion did not collapse as it ought to have. It had gained a momentum of its own and even the death of its charismatic leader could not stop it. Mendoza’s martyrdom only enraged his supporters and drove many fence-sitters into the rebel camp. The scheme to bring in the Great powers to help was hatched. And so here we all are…”

 

“How did Rodrigues end up in charge? I mean I remember him from some of the parties we had on the way here, but he was just a minor official, wasn’t he?”

“By the time the envoys returned with us to help, the rebellion had been nearly wiped out. The EnBees poured in reinforcements in hopes of securing things before anyone else could intervene. Mendoza’s successor had been killed and the successor’s successor as well. Rodrigues was the chief envoy and the only prominent leader left and he stepped into the power vacuum.”

 

“Ah, so he really did outlive everyone else.”

 

“Yeah. He wasn’t the best choice—but all the better choices were dead. So the alliance secured Araxa for him and set him up as the nominal leader of Novo Paveo. Things have gone downhill from that point on. Some of the rebels have rallied around him, but the mere fact that he wasn’t dead disqualified Rodrigues in the eyes of many. Where had he been while everyone else was getting killed?”

“Huh. On the Whole that would have been seen as cleverness and skillfully playing the game. But here it’s a badge of shame?”

 

“To some people, yeah. The EnBee ruling class, the grandees, are all bound up in codes of honors and such. Doesn’t always make sense.”

 

“You mean sort of like those Vor things on Barrayar?” asked Tej, grinning.

 

“Uh, well, we’re trying to avoid comparisons like that,” answered Ivan Xav, tapping her on the nose. “But yeah. And it’s causing a real problem here. Outside of Araxa, Rodrigues doesn’t have much credibility. But until he can actually drum up enough support to secure his rule against the remaining loyalists, he’ll need our support. The only recent change is some new orders that came in from home the other day. The high command has a new strategy they want to try out. It might help, but it won’t be quick.”

 

“So we’re stuck here? For how long?”

 

“For as long as Vorpinski stays here. The diplomatic situation hasn’t really changed, and until it does, this is a diplomatic hot-spot, and he’s Gregor’s fireman.”

 

Tej sighed and snuggled against him. This wasn’t really what they’d been hoping for when they signed on to the diplomatic corps.

 

“But…” said Ivan.

 

“But what?”

 

“I can tell you’re sick of being cooped up on this ship…”

 

“I grew up mostly on a space station,” interjected Tej, “But yes, it would be nice to get off, at least for a while. Where?”

 

“They’ve built a diplomatic compound in Araxa for all the new embassies. It’s been very well secured with force fields and all the rest. Vorpinski is seriously thinking of relocating his offices down there. We could get a nice apartment inside the compound. Would you like that?”

 

Tej nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, I think I would.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Two men, one young and one a bit older, regarded each other across the table in the tavern’s private room. The young one, despite his youth, was without doubt the senior of the pair. Scion of a distinguished family and definitely going places in politics. He wasn’t entirely happy about being in the same room with the other one, but the meeting place was safe enough—at least from snoopers. He wasn’t so sure just how safe his companion was.

 

Yosef Vorritter, one-time naval officer but now court martialed, dismissed, disgraced, started back at him.

 

“I want her dead,” he said in a low voice.

 

“Understandable.”

 

“More than that. I want her to suffer before she dies.”

 

“Also understandable, considering what she cost you.”

 

Vorritter began a long, obscene rant against Lieutenant Andreanne Payne, a woman whose only crime, as far as he could tell, was to refuse to allow Vorritter to rape her. The man wanted revenge, a revenge of the most violent sort.

 

And for reasons the man couldn’t quite fathom, Vorritter seemed to think he could help him get that revenge. It was probably because of his old mentor, a man publicly known to have opposed Payne’s entry into the military. While he had never shared the Old Man’s obsession on that point, apparently their well-known association was enough for Vorritter.

 

And so Vorritter had been seeking him out, hanging around, and generally making a bit of a nuisance of himself for months. He was half tempted to just tell him to go away, leave him alone, and get his revenge on his own.

 

But he had learned a great deal from the Old Man, and he had always said to never discard a tool that might prove useful. _Every man has some lever by which he can be moved,_ he had said. And there wasn’t the slightest doubt which lever could move Vorritter! Just hinting that he might be willing to help him achieve his revenge would probably move him to do almost anything in return. Such men could be useful if handled properly.

 

“Well, she’s a bit out of reach right now,” he said once Vorritter ran out of breath. “You’ll just have to be patient.”

 

 

**BOOK THREE**

 

 

**Chapter 18**

 

“Well, we sure liberated the hell out of this place.”

 

Lieutenant Andreanne Payne, C Company, 1st Battalion, 61st Regiment of Imperial Infantry, glanced at Private Kerbeck and then looked around at the smoking ruins of the town. She had to agree with her trooper. It was at least the dozenth town they had ‘liberated’ since arriving on Novo Paveo, but for once the EnBees had put up a fight and the battle hadn’t left much intact. Some of the buildings had been blasted completely to rubble and many of the rest had burned. There were bodies lying in the streets. Most of those were the EnBee defenders, but she had no doubt that there were civilians buried in the rubble. C Company’s assault had been fast and by surprise and there would have been no chance for the civilians to get out of the way. The speed of the attack was probably why the EnBees had stood and fought this time—they couldn’t run.

 

Not that standing and fighting had done them much good. They were just lightly armed infantry and they’d stood no chance against the Barrayarans in battle armor. She took another look at her platoon status display and was relieved and satisfied that none of her troopers had been hurt. 1st and 2nd platoon had each taken a few minor casualties, but 3rd platoon had been lucky—this time. She clicked the command circuit to Captain Vorstang. “Payne here. The east end of town is secure, sir, all resistance neutralized.”

 

“Good work,” came the reply. “Establish a perimeter, get your sensors placed, and wait for our relief.”

 

“Yes, sir.” She relayed the command to Platoon Sergeant Kay and he quickly got the men in position. Kay was really shaping up since they got here. He could take care of most routine matters on his own now and she could trust him to get it done right. He was getting a better grasp of command in combat, too, although she wasn’t sure she’d trust him with the whole platoon. There were a couple of the squad leaders who were showing some real skill, however. There were times when she wished she could swap one of them for Kay. But there was no way she could do that.

 

For the next few hours nothing much happened. She inspected the perimeter, checked out the sensors just for something to do and waited for the relief forces to arrive. Naturally they were late. But eventually several large shuttles landed and a reinforced company of the Army of the Republic of Free Novo Paveo debarked. The acronym for them was ARFNP and the Barrayaran troops had taken to calling them ‘Arfnips’, which seemed particularly appropriate: they barked loudly but didn’t have much of a bite.

 

Unless you were an unarmed civilian, of course.

 

Anny looked on in disgust as the Arfnips dragged people out of the remains of their houses and turned them over to the ‘intelligence’ personnel that always accompanied them. They were looking for ‘traitors’, of course. She knew that they had fast-penta, but they saved that for real interrogations. They much preferred the old fashioned rough-and-ready methods they were using now: beat the snot out of them and see if they confessed to anything interesting.

 

The first few times she’d seen this she’d tried to stop them, but some very loud barking by the officer in charge to Captain Vorstang (and once all the way to Major Vorglanov) had resulted in orders that forced her to refrain from interfering. It turned her stomach, especially when they went to work on the women and kids, but there wasn’t a damned thing she could do about it.

 

“Hard at work winning hearts and minds again, I see,” said Ensign Vorstuban, coming up next to her.

 

“Yes.”

 

“At the rate we’re ‘pacifying’ this place we could serve out our whole careers in this dump, eh, Lieutenant?

 

“Did you want something, ensign?” Vorstuban was one of the extra officers that had been assigned to the regiment. Vorstang had been keeping him as an aide. Anny didn’t particularly like him.

 

“Captain just sent me to see how the turn-over is going. You about ready to pull out?”

 

“We’re ready. Let me see if our allies are ready to take over.” She left Vorstuban standing there and went over to the man she’d identified as her opposite number. While most of the Arfnip troopers wore utilitarian (and sometimes downright ragged) fatigue uniforms, the officers were always much better dressed. The man she approached was only the local equivalent of a lieutenant, but he had enough gold braid for a Barrayaran general. And since the Barrayarans were no slouches when it came to fancy uniforms, that made him a very resplendent lieutenant indeed.

 

He turned to face her as she approached. An eight-foot tall, 250 kilo suit of Mark XI battle armor was something no one could really ignore. Anny clicked on her translator and activated the suit’s speaker. What she said was: “Lieutenant, I want to pull my troops out. Are your people ready to replace us?” But the translator that converted her words into the local version of Portuguese added all sorts of flowery embellishments. Some wag had circulated a memo with twenty stock phrases and the literal meaning of what the translators produced. It had been very funny—and a tad alarming.

 

The man frowned, glanced toward where some of the intelligence people were having their fun and then replied. His mouth seemed to be pouring out a lot of words, but all that came through on her communicator was: “Noble ally, there will be a slight delay. Please have patience.” She was quite certain that his actual words had said nothing of the sort. _Screw you, Barrayaran, we’ll relieve you when we’re good and ready!_

 

Anny had encountered this sort of thing before and she knew how to deal with it. “My men will be falling back to their extraction point in ten minutes. If you don’t want the perimeter left vacant, I suggest you get some of your men moving.” Without waiting for an answer she turned and walked away. She wondered how _that_ had been translated?

 

She heard the start of an angry reply but she kept walking and shut off the translation by switching to her platoon circuit: “Third platoon, we will fall back for extraction at exactly 1535 hours.” She was annoyed and her annoyance only grew when she that Vorstuban was still there and now he was grinning.

 

“Nicely handled, Lieutenant,” he said. “That’s the only way to deal with these people. I swear those Arfnip grandees are as stuck up as the worst of the Cetagandans. Looks like the message got through, though. They’re moving.”

 

“Good.”

 

“Of course I suppose some day one of them is just going to ignore us, get his command wiped out, and then blame us for abandoning him. Just out of spite.”

 

“Don’t you have anything to do, ensign?”

 

“Not really, no. I’ve already visited the other platoons as Vorstang ordered. I thought I’d hitch a ride back to base with your platoon.”

 

“Why?”

 

A slight twitch in Vorstuban’s armor indicated that he’d shrugged. “Why not? I’ve been trying to get to know all the other officers in the company. And I’ve succeeded with every one except you, Lieutenant Payne. I’m starting to get the impression that you don’t like me and I can’t understand why.”

 

Anny twitched. Had she been that obvious? And why didn’t she like Vorstuban? He’d never been anything except polite and respectful in the dealings she’d had with him. He’d been in her class at the Academy, but she honestly couldn’t remember ever having met him there. He’d been in a different company and apparently had never been among her many tormentors—which was certainly a mark in his favor. He was a bit arrogant, true, but then he was Vor and that was to be expected. And while he was only here at all because he’d used his influence—his uncle was an admiral, if she recalled correctly, that was true of her, too, wasn’t it? She’d had important friends help her get back to the Regiment. And it wasn’t like he was a newbie anymore: every man in the Regiment was a veteran now.

 

“All right,” she said. “Come along if you like.”

 

“Thank you, sir.” He made a half-bow in his armor.

 

Anny did her best to ignore him while not appearing to ignore him until 1535 and then she led her platoon back to where an assault shuttle was waiting for them. The Arfnip troops did appear to have taken over the perimeter positions… more or less.

 

She and her men piled into the shuttle and strapped themselves in. Vorstuban took the seat opposite her—the one normally occupied by Sergeant Kay, who had to move to another spot. Within moments the shuttle was aloft. Vorstuban started to undog the latches securing his helmet.

 

“Better keep that on until we’re over friendly territory, ensign,” she said. “If we take a hit you’ll have no time to get it back on again.”

 

The man looked startled and then glanced at the other men in the shuttle. None of them had moved to remove their helmets. “We never seem to worry about it on the command shuttle… You really think there’s much risk of that?” he asked.

 

“I heard the bad guys knocked down an Escobaran shuttle just the other day,” offered Sergeant Kay.

 

“Platoon orders, ensign,” said Anny. “We stay buttoned up until I or Sergeant Kay give the word.”

“I see. But yes, I recall that you do have some personal experience with surface to air missiles, don’t you?”

 

“A bit, yes.”

 

“Nasty?”

 

“They can be, especially if you’re aboard a vehicle like this. In the… the action I was in, over half our casualties came from injuries during shuttle crashes. Your armor’s shields aren’t much protection from something like that.”

 

Vorstuban looked at her with a strange expression. “I’ve heard some of the others talking about your record, Lieutenant, but I can’t recall hearing you say a word about it yourself in the mess.”

 

“If you want good stories then ask Alby Vorsworth. He was there, too, and tells a much better story than I do.”  


Vorstuban laughed. “He can certainly tell a story! And I have, in fact, heard his story about the action on Dounby. But he makes numerous references to your role in the battle. But I would be most interested in hearing about it first hand. I mean, even with all the skirmishing we’ve seen here, you’re still the only one in the Regiment with a Medal for Conspicuous Gallantry.”

 

“Is that what you’re doing here, ensign? Hoping to win some medals?”

 

Anny realized that her words might offend some people, but Vorstuban only laughed. “Of course! Nothing like a few commendations to brighten up a fellow’s record!” It took Anny a moment to decide that Vorstuban was, in fact, joking. Sort of… But then the young man’s expression changed and he looked much more serious. “Actually, Lieutenant,” he continued, “I was wondering if I might have a private word with you?” He raised his hand and placed an armored finger to the side of his helmet. He wanted to talk on the private officer’s circuit.

 

Anny shrugged and switched over. “All right. What did you want to say, Ensign?”

 

“Ah… yes, well, your comment about medals isn’t all that far off the mark. I am hoping to get some real combat experience while I’m here. I don’t have to explain how important that can be to a career. Even with influence, there’s only so far you can go with no combat record. And while I am getting some good experience working for Captain Vorstang, I was hoping to get a little, er, closer to the sharp end, if you take my meaning.”

 

Anny blinked. Closer to the sharp end? The HQ of an assault company was already pretty darn close! The only place closer for an officer would be to command a platoon… “Third Platoon is mine, ensign, find your own.”

 

Vorstuban laughed nervously. “I wasn’t… er, that wasn’t what I was thinking of, Lieutenant. But Vorstang has agreed to let me… tag along with one of the platoons for a while, as an observer, you see. Observer, second in command, whatever. He said I could do that if the platoon commander agreed.” He looked at her intently for a moment. “And of course I’d pull my weight, help out however I could.”

 

“Why me? Did Dahlberg and Vorgard turn you down already?”

 

“I haven’t asked them. You were my first choice… sir.”

 

“Really?” said Anny in surprise. “Why? Being associated with me might do your record more harm than good, you know.”

 

Vorstuban looked thoughtful. “Perhaps with some people, but I believe they are going to end up on the wrong side of history. I remember the grief they gave you at the Academy, but all those fellows look like damn fools now. It’s quite clear that the people who count most are backing you. And it’s obvious that Vorstang thinks you’re his best platoon commander…”

 

_He does?_

 

“… and I’d prefer to learn from the best. And I realize I am here to learn, Lieutenant. I haven’t had assault training, as you know. I’m here because I had the connections to get me here, not because I earned it. I know that and I know that everyone else knows that. So I have some catching up to do and… and I’d be grateful for your help.”

 

Anny just stared at him, thoroughly surprised. This was not what she’s been expecting at all. Her immediate instinct was that this was some sort of trick. The paranoia that her friends chided her for _not_ having back at the Academy had slowly grown in her. Well, not paranoia, exactly, more of a xenophobia, really. She had a small circle that she trusted absolutely, and a slightly larger circle that she trusted with some reservation, but anyone outside of that was not to be trusted at all. Lessons she’d learned the hard way. Vorstuban wasn’t inside either of her circles.

 

_But that’s not his fault, is it?_

 

And what test did he have to pass to get into her circles? The same test as anyone else: prove himself trustworthy. And the only way he could do that was for her to give him a chance. A lot of people had been willing to give _her_ a chance over the years…

 

“I think we’re okay, sir,” said Sergeant Kay, suddenly, startling her. She looked over at her platoon sergeant and he was pointing to his helmet.

 

Glad for the distraction, she gave the platoon permission to remove their helmets, which she did also. Vorstuban took his off and sat there looking at her with a raised eyebrow. She pondered for another few seconds and then slowly nodded. “All right, ensign, if that’s what you want, I think we can make a spot for you. Sergeant Kay.”

 

“Sir?”

 

“Ensign Vorstuban will be joining the platoon. Temporarily. He’ll be my second in command.”

 

Kay nodded with a slightly wary expression on his face. “Welcome aboard, sir.”

 

“You’ll make the ensign familiar with our standing orders and operating procedures.”

 

“Yes sir.”

 

“Thank you, Lieutenant, Sergeant,” said Vorstuban. “I’m grateful for the opportunity.”

 

“I hope your time with us meets your expectations. Now, I’m gonna take a little nap. If you’ve got any questions I’m sure Sergeant Kay can help you.” She closed her eyes and leaned back as far as her armor would allow. She had no intention of taking a nap, but she wanted time to think about this.

 

She didn’t like surprises and this was certainly a surprise. Another officer with her platoon? What was she going to do with him? An infantry platoon didn’t really need two officers, although having a ‘spare’ in case the commander became a casualty was never a bad idea. But still… She could certainly dump some of her administrative chores on him, though. But command in the field? She wasn’t so certain. _But it might be a good learning experience for me, too._

 

Anny was aware that if she had any weakness as a commander it was a reluctance to delegate. Routine stuff—like paperwork—she had no problems giving to others, but battlefield command, that was another matter. Out there, under fire, she wanted to have her finger on everything. The incredible amount of information that the neural interface of her armor provided her with had allowed her to do that so far. She could tie into the armor of each of her squad leaders, looking over their shoulders, as it were, and give them very precise orders in real time. It had worked so far, but she knew that she was stifling the initiative of her subordinates and risking information overload with herself. In a really hot engagement she might find herself unable to control everything and if her squad leaders waited too long for her to give them orders… disaster.

 

She’d tried to step back, loosen the reins a bit, but with the lives of her men at risk, it was hard. Very hard. But someday she’d have to learn how to delegate. Someday she’d step up to company command and at that level it would be impossible to control every squad personally. She’d have no choice but to trust her platoon commanders to do their jobs.

 

_Maybe it’s time to start._

 

Without opening her eyes she used the interface to call up Vorstuban’s record. His performance at the Academy was solid if not spectacular. He’d graduated in the top third and he’d specialized in heavy armor in his senior year. He’d been assigned to the staff of a tank brigade down on South Continent, but when the expedition to Novo Paveo had been announced and it had also been decided that it just wasn’t practical shipping heavy armor halfway across the Nexus, he’d used his uncle’s influence to get transferred to the 61st. With all the competition for plum assignments, even his uncle’s pull had limits and he’d ended up in C Company, rather than some prestigious staff position. Or, if what he’d told her was true, maybe he’d wanted an assignment like this.

 

She felt the shuttle bank and she closed down Vorstuban’s records and tied into an external camera on the shuttle. As she’d expected, they were approaching the huge base that had been built north of the capital city, Araxa. Each of the major powers in the alliance had wanted military bases here and so did the diplomatic personnel. With the massive support and supply facilities needed, the installation was nearly as large as the city itself. When you added in the defenses that went along with it, it was probably larger.  


The 61st had its own section of the facility. As an assault regiment they had been used in the textbook fashion of rapid strikes against targets and then withdrawal back to the base to prepare for the next mission. They had barracks, storage and training facilities, even some recreational stuff. It was almost like being back at Fort Vorolson on Barrayar—except it was ten times the size. They had taken to calling the Barrayaran base ‘Fort Gatchall’ after the first Barrayaran soldier killed on Novo Paveo. He was from one of the other regiments, but Anny approved of the sentiment. She had noticed that various buildings on the base were acquiring names, too. So far the casualties had been light, but week by week they were adding up.

 

As she watched, she could see a dozen other shuttles and a few larger vessels lifting off or landing. Traffic was always heavy around the base, day or night. The shuttles carrying C Company slid into the pattern and minutes later settled onto landing pads in the 61st’s area.

 

With the slight jolt of the touch-down, she opened her eyes and looked around as if she’d just woken up. It was a little trick she used to project an aura of calm. She rarely ever actually slept and usually used the time to do paperwork with her interface. She sometimes wondered if she was really fooling anyone. She released her armor from its harness and stood up. “All right, everyone,” she said, “get your gear stowed, report any maintenance or repair issues to the ordnance sergeant, and then get some sack time. We’ll be reviewing today’s action at 0800 tomorrow. Dismissed.”

 

The rear ramp was down and she led the way out and then over to the armory where their battle armor was stored. She emerged from her suit with a sigh of relief. The armor was really pretty comfortable considering what it was and what it was designed for, but it was always good to get out of it after a full day shut up inside. She put on a set of fatigues over her undersuit. After making certain everything was squared away with her platoon and her own gear she headed back to the officers’ quarters. She was pleased that Vorstuban had the sense not to press too closely so soon. He headed off to his own quarters with just a ‘see you later’.

 

Her quarters were part of a prefabricated unit that was pretty bare bones, but still reasonably comfortable. She still shared it with Chris Tropio and that was fine. Jac played dog-robber for the both of them. Neither of them was present when she entered and that wasn’t surprising. It was mid-afternoon and they both had fairly normal work schedules. But Jac had set out her undress greens. Somehow he’d known she would be back today. It often seemed as though the regiment’s dog-robbers were better informed about what was happening than anyone else.

 

She shucked off the fatigues and then peeled off the undersuit. A long shower was most welcome. She wished that Jer was there to scrub her back, but his company was off somewhere, halfway round the planet and probably wouldn’t be back until tomorrow at the soonest. They didn’t see each other as much as she’d like, but actually far more often than she’d expected. The first few times they had been sent off on missions to far flung parts of the planet, they’d both been terribly anxious about the safety of the other. But now, after months of only minor combats and light casualties they had gotten used to it—almost. She still worried about Jer, but it wasn’t the agonizing knife in her gut that it had once been. _I guess you can get used to anything. Amazing._

 

She dried herself and put on her greens and checked the order log. No parade today—again—so she pretty much had the rest of the day free, except for the usual reports she’d have to write that evening. They had dispensed with a lot of the ceremonial stuff they had done back on Barrayar. Anny realized now that they had done those things to remind themselves they were soldiers even though there was no fighting to be done. But now that they were doing real fighting, the ceremonies didn’t seem so important. It saddened her—she’d loved that sort of thing—but they had more important things to concern them now. She put on her cap and left her quarters.

 

A warm breeze touched her cheek as she walked along the street separating the barracks buildings. Novo Paveo was a warm planet and much of it was tropical or semi-tropical. Only the polar regions ever got very cold and since there were no land masses at either pole, no one paid them any mind. Araxa was at the northern edge of the largest continent and had a pleasant climate. As you’d expect: with a whole planet to choose from, why not put the capital city where the weather was nicest? There was a rainy season, but it only lasted a month or two. The rest of the time there would be intermittent rainy spells—just like back home—but nothing resembling a winter.

 

She checked in at HQ, but there weren’t any new orders that affected her. She stopped by Alby’s office, but he wasn’t there. She saw more of Alby than any of her old friends these days. Patric was off on a mission, too, and she felt a bit lonely. It was too early to drop by the Officers’ Mess and too late to make a trip into town before dinner. The only other close friend who would be around was Chris Tropio, so she headed for the base hospital. Chris probably wouldn’t have much time to talk, but there were a couple of men from her platoon recovering there and she really ought to pay them a visit.

 

The base hospital was enormous. The people planning the expedition had obviously expected heavy casualties and provided accordingly. As a result, most of the wards were nearly empty. Anny couldn’t quite understand why the unused facilities weren’t being opened to the locals. _They_ were the ones taking the most casualties and the medical infrastructure on Novo Paveo had been as thoroughly messed up as everything else. But there weren’t any locals in the hospital. She could understand that there were security concerns, but there must be something that could be done. Still, she supposed she should be grateful that the lack of Barrayaran casualties was keeping the place underused.

 

She was walking past one of the physical therapy wards when she jerked to a halt. “Sergeant Wood! What are you doing here?” she exclaimed. One of her men, Sergeant Mikail Wood of her second squad was sitting on a table while a medical orderly was doing something to his leg—his left leg—the leg that had been blown off by an enemy mine three weeks earlier. The man’s face brightened when he saw her.

 

“Hi Lieutenant! How’s my squad?”

 

“Uh, they’re all fine,” replied Anny. “But why are you still here? You were supposed to ship out for home three days ago!” They’d even had a going away party for him… As she got closer she saw that Wood’s left leg was now a cybernetic prosthesis rather than flesh and blood.

 

“Yeah, but my orders got changed. Seems they’re gonna grow me a new leg right here—while I wait!”

 

“But they don’t have the facilities to do that!”

 

“I guess they do now. They say I’ll be fit for light duty with this here gizmo in a couple of weeks and I can be back with the squad in just four or five months! How about that, Lieutenant?”

 

“Well, that would be… great. But are you sure about this?”

 

“Yessir! I checked twice.”

 

“Huh. Well, I’m sorry you don’t get the trip home, Sergeant.”

 

“Ah, I’d rather wait an’ go home with the guys. If I go home now, God only knows if I’d ever find my way back with the company. You know how those dang bureaucrats work.”

 

“That’s the truth,” said Anny sincerely. “Well, it will be good to have you around.’ Light duty’, eh?”

 

“Yup. I ‘spec you or Sergeant Kay will find me some, too!” He grinned at her.

 

“I imagine we will. Well, you take care of yourself. I’ll see you later.” She left the ward and then frowned. This was quite a change. Why hadn’t she heard about it? She sought out Chris Tropio and finally found her in the break room.

 

“Hi Anny,” she said. “Back already?”

 

“Yeah, this one was short and sweet. Only a couple of minor casualties. But I just saw Sergeant Wood. What’s this about not sending him home?”

 

Tropio shrugged. “The last supply ship brought a regeneration facility. We can grow new limbs here now. Anything worse still goes home, but an arm and a leg stays here.”

 

“Wow…”

 

“I guess it makes sense. With it a four month trip each way and the whole process only taking five or six months, they might as well stay here. Still, a facility like this cost a fortune…” Chris trailed off, but Anny knew just what she was thinking.

 

“I guess we’re here for the long haul.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“General, I must protest these orders! To use an assault regiment in this fashion violates every accepted notion of military doctrine!”

 

Alby Vorsworth watched Colonel Fetherbay. His commander’s face was almost completely emotionless, but there was no missing the anger in his voice. He shifted his gaze to General Sylvanus. The former Academy commandant just shook his head and spread his hands.

 

“You’ll get no argument from me, Anthony. I said exactly the same thing to General Vordanov when he briefed me on this, but the orders come all the way from the top. It’s the latest ‘new plan’ to resolve the situation here. You’ll notice that I didn’t say _win_.” Several of the people in the brigade conference room snorted and Alby had to force himself to stay silent.

 

“But General,” persisted Fetherbay. “an assault regiment is designed for rapid strikes, not long-term occupation duty! Our equipment isn’t suited for it and we haven’t been trained for it. Surely there must be other troops who can…”

 

Sylvanus shook his head again and held up his hand, cutting off Fetherbay. “Sorry, Colonel. Yes, there are better suited formations, but they will all be doing exactly the same thing as well.” The General paused and touched a control in front of him and brought up a map of Novo Paveo on the main display. Hundreds of small red dots speckled the land masses. “I don’t need to tell you gentlemen that for months we’ve been striking targets all over the planet.” He gestured at the dots. “We’ve killed a lot of people and torn up a lot of real estate, but we haven’t made much progress toward winning the war. The people we’re killing are mostly local loyalists—or innocent bystanders—and the real estate is just people’s homes and businesses. What we are really after, EnBee regulars and their bases, continue to elude us. It might seem incredible that we can’t find those bases, but a planet is a hell of a big place and with the proper countermeasures there are thousands of spots a base could be located where you’d never find it unless you happened to fall over it. We have managed to find a few of their smaller installations, but our intelligence boffins are convinced that there are many more, including at least one really big one, and at least 20,000 EnBee personnel still hidden from us.”

 

Sylvanus looked at the officers and frowned. “The high command believes—and I can’t really argue with them—that our past strategy of striking at spots where we suspect there is enemy activity and then turning the place over to our local allies is not accomplishing anything. Without our troops there to back them up, the Arfnips very quickly lose their nerve and pull out. In the few cases where they don’t run, they usually get wiped out by a Loyalist counterstrike.

 

“What is needed is for us to establish a long term presence in an area and make sure it is truly and fully pacified before moving on to a new area. But we can’t just drop off a platoon here or a company there. Small forces are simply too vulnerable to being attacked and gobbled up piecemeal. We used to do exactly that to the Cetagandans when they were on Barrayar. Some of the other Alliance forces here have learned this same lesson the hard way.

 

“So the new plan is to commit major formations to seize and hold defensible locations for as long as necessary. Once you’ve secured a base of operations, we’ll move in the supplies and facilities you’ll need for an extended stay. I know it’s not something that any of us are keen on doing, but those are our orders, gentlemen. Now…” Sylvanus touched the display controls and they zoomed in. “Anthony, you will take the 61st and take this large island. As you can see it is about ten thousand square kilometers and located just off the north coast of the main landmass. It’s not all that far from here, actually. Intelligence suspects that a lot of the raids against Araxa that we’ve experienced may be originating from here. Your orders are to scour the place and dig out every loyalist enclave.”

 

“Yes sir,” said Fetherbay.

 

“Now, Colonel Vorgar, you will take the 26th and…”

 

 

An hour later Alby, Fetherbay and the rest of the 61st staff emerged from the meeting. Fetherbay called them all together. “Well, gentlemen, we have our marching orders. Let’s get to it.”

 

 

**Chapter 19**

 

The assault shuttles were flying so low and so fast that their shock waves were kicking up spray from the ocean only a dozen meters below them. Anny could feel the shuttle shaking as it punched its way through the thick air and the clouds of water thrown up by the shuttles in front of them.

 

She swallowed nervously and resisted the urge to pull her arms out of her armor’s sleeves and wipe the sweat off her palms. She was about to do something she’d never done before. No one in the whole company had done something quite like this before, either. They’d simulated it a few times over the last few days, but that was all. Someone higher up had come up with this cockamamie scheme at the last minute and there had been no time to practice it for real.

 

The Regiment—the whole Regiment for the first time in this campaign—was about to storm an island called Tamborete. Her translator said the word meant ‘stool’ in the local dialect. She had no idea why. But the 61st Regiment of Imperial Infantry was going to take the place, and unlike their usual smash-grab-and turn over missions, this time they were going to smash-grab-and hold. According to the mission briefing they were here to stay.

 

“Two minutes to drop,” came Captain Vorstang’s voice over the com. “Stand by.”

 

Anny unstrapped herself and stood up. The shuttle was still shuddering, but the stabilizers in her armor kept her steady on her feet. “Get ready,” she said to her platoon. She watched the seconds tick down to about the one minute mark. “Stand up!” Forty armored men got to their feet. Ensign Vorstuban was right next to her. “You’re the first one out, Ensign, you ready for this?” she asked him.

 

“Too late to back out now, Lieutenant,” replied Vorstuban, grinning. “Don’t worry, sir.”

 

The shuttle banked sharply and Anny put a hand out to brace herself despite her stabilizers. A moment later the pilot said: “Hatch opening, drop in thirty seconds!” The rear hatch of the shuttle yawned open, revealing blackness. It was still three hours before dawn. Anny’s suit automatically adjusted her vision and she could see the surface of the ocean rushing past not far below.

 

“Just like we practiced, people! See you down there!”

 

Ten seconds to drop and she could feel the shuttle decelerating to a lower speed. Five seconds. “Get ready!”

 

“Go!”

 

Vorstuban flung himself out the hatch. A line of men followed him at two second intervals.

 

“Go! Go! Go!”

 

Anny slapped the back of each man as he passed. It annoyed her not to be the first one out, but for this deployment she needed to be in the center of the formation. Vorstuban, out first, would anchor the left flank of the platoon and Sergeant Kay would be last out to anchor the right. The last man in the first half of the platoon moved past her and out. She stepped into the hatchway, waited a heartbeat, and then jumped.

 

The next few seconds were all pre-programmed into her armor. The anti-grav unit came on at full nullification and her suit thrusters went to maximum power. In the moments before she hit the water her speed dropped from two hundred kph to a much more comfortable eighty. Even so, when she torpedoed below the surface the jolt was considerable. The water slowed her speed to nothing in a few seconds more. The AG unit adjusted her buoyancy and she found herself floating in dark water ten meters beneath the surface. _That wasn’t so bad…_

 

She immediately checked her tactical display. Third Platoon was a necklace of glowing blue beads strung out to her left and still being strung to her right. As she watched, the differently marked icon for Sergeant Kay appeared on the right. More beads appeared beyond Kay, but that was Second Platoon and not her immediate concern. They were down and everyone seemed to be…

 

“Hey! Hey! Help!” the voice over her com was a shout and Anny flinched.

 

“Who’s that? Who called for help?” She was already scanning her status readouts and had the answer the same moment that the voice called again.

 

“Me! Griesmeyer! I’m sinkin’ like a rock! AG’s out! My thrusters, too! Whadda I do?”

 

Indeed, her status display showed that Private Griesmeyer was already a hundred meters down and sinking rapidly. Their armor could handle depths to nearly a thousand meters and the bottom wasn’t that far down, so there was probably no immediate danger… _unless his suit’s got other damage._

 

“All right, calm down,” she ordered. “Private Griesmeyer, I want you to activate the flotation device we’ve all had installed. Can you do that?”

 

“I… I think so. Yeah! Yeah, I got it!”

 

“Okay, good. Now hold on a minute until I check the diagnostics on your armor…” She tied into Griesmeyer’s suit and quickly found that his suit would need a maintenance shop to fix. There was nothing they could do here. “Sorry, Private, but I think you are going to have to sit this one out. Adjust the buoyancy in the flotation device to take you up to the surface. I’ll order a shuttle to pick you up.”

 

“But…”

 

“Shut up, Griesmeyer!” snapped Sergeant Kay. “The Lieutenant’s got more important things to do than nursemaid you! Now do as you’re told.”

 

“Yes, Sergeant,” said Griesmeyer grumpily. Anny immediately turned her attention back to the tactical display. The last men of C Company were just landing now. They’d be moving shortly. But she had a hole in her formation with the loss of Griesmeyer. The drop had left her men in a long line about a hundred meters apart but she now had one gap that was two hundred meters. She issued orders to close it up by drawing in the left flank once they started to move.

 

“He’s on the surface, Lieutenant,” reported Kay. “They’ll get him.”

 

“Good.”

 

“Naturally it was Griesmeyer,” said Kay in an exasperated tone.

 

Anny snorted. Yeah, naturally it was Griesmeyer. It seemed as though every outfit had one. The hard luck, two left feet, fumble-fingered git that everything seemed to happen to. “Well, better now than later.”

 

“C Company, attention.” Captain Vorstang’s voice came over the com. “Switch over to the laser com system. Shut down your primary coms.” Anny quickly did so and then checked the links to all her platoon. Everyone was linked although the signal to the people beyond the gap left by Griesmeyer was weak. The com lasers could only travel a few hundred meters underwater, depending on the conditions. Hopefully once they’d closed the gap things would improve.

 

A minute or two went by while there was some reshuffling among the other platoons to get their own links secure and then Vorstang ordered the company to move out. Anny activated her suit’s thrusters and soon she was cruising along at about forty kph like a miniature submarine. All her troopers were doing likewise. The simulator time they’d spent on the voyage here was paying off, there were no foul-ups.

 

Their speed through the water was forty kph, but they were only doing about half that speed when measured against actual distance travelled. They were moving against a very strong current because the tide was still going out. They had been dropped with the island of Tamborete well beyond the horizon and—hopefully—with them beyond the reach of any enemy sensors placed on the island. The Regiment would be hitting Tamborete about four hours from now, but C Company was going to be there early and, if everything went right, secretly.

 

They cruised along without incident for about half an hour and then Vorstang ordered a halt. “All right, people,” he said. “Here’s where things get interesting. We’re just about at low tide. You may have noticed that the current against us is dropping fast. Our target is just beyond the horizon and when the tide comes back in again, it will bring us with it. We are going to shut down our main power and all other systems except the few we’ll need. It’s all programmed into your suits. Our AG and thrusters will be off-line. The flotation bags they attached will keep our buoyancy at neutral and we’ll just float in with the tide. Our only worry will to be on the lookout for rocks and such as we get close to shore. We’ve all been briefed on this now let’s do it!”

 

“You heard him,” said Anny to her platoon. “It’ll be just like that lake by the waterfall back at Fort Vorolson. Now call up your special commands options and execute Program ‘Spindrift’.” She did so for her own armor and verified that every man in the platoon had done likewise. The immediate effects were negligible. Unlike the memorable training exercise she’d mentioned, they were not shutting down everything. She could still move her arms and legs and she still had communications via the com lasers. All the high-power systems were off-line, though, which would hopefully render them very hard to spot on enemy sensors.

 

_Assuming they don’t know we’re here._

 

And that was a big assumption. If any enemy who might be on Tamborete was depending strictly on line-of-sight sensors then they were okay. The shuttles had never gotten above the horizon in relation to the island. There was no way they could have been spotted that way. But if the enemy still had any sensor probes in orbit around the planet, they could have been spotted easily. When the armada had arrived, there had been hundreds of the things floating around. Most of them had been heavily stealthed and many were turned off to make them even harder to spot, only powering up later when needed. The navy types had claimed that they had gotten all of them and since they hadn’t had much else to do but look for them Anny was confident that they had gotten most of them, but there was no way to tell if they had gotten all of them.

 

_I guess we’ll find out._

 

They floated there in the blackness for a quarter hour as the tide reached its low point and then began to move back in again. Minute by minute their speed increased as the water rushed back toward the island, carrying them along. But the flow wasn’t uniform across the whole length of C Company so their communications started to get spotty as links in the chain moved beyond the range of the com lasers. They’d been warned that this would happen, but Anny wasn’t happy that within 20 minutes she’d lost contact with most of her men, but there wasn’t a thing she could do about it. All she could hope was that the NCOs in the squads would be able to keep things under control where she couldn’t. _Delegate girl, delegate. You can trust them. You have to._

 

They floated along for more than two hours. Their speed was over 20 kph so they were well over the horizon and in sight of the shore by now. Anny hoped no one was watching them. The sun came up and the utter blackness gave way to a murky gray light with an occasional brighter burst as some ray penetrated deeper. Only about an hour until the main assault began; they were getting close.

 

After a while Anny became aware of a faint rumble. It was more of a vibration transmitted through her armor than an actual sound. What was it? A few more minutes passed and the rumble was getting stronger. More light was penetrating the water now and she could catch glimpses of the surface about ten meters above her. It looked like it was surging up and down rather wildly…

 

A faint movement below her caught her attention. She looked down but couldn’t see anything at first, but then a smooth gray shape slid past her and she realized with a shock that it was a boulder. More of them went by, large and small and the water seemed to be getting filled with floating debris and clouds of silt and bubbles.

 

Anny, growing up in the Dendarii Mountains, had had relatively little contact with oceans in her life, but she suddenly realized what the rumbling was. It was the surf. _We’re in the shallows! Omigod!_ _They just said we would drift in with the tide! They never said anything about this!_

 

Her vision was almost completely obstructed now by the swirling silt. She couldn’t use her sensors and she had no idea what might be ahead of her. “Heads up, people! This could get rough!” she commanded. She only had a com link with about five other people by now and that was getting more and more erratic in the turbulent waters. But they hardly needed the warning.

 

The dark mass of rock loomed up in front of her and she was thrust against it by the rushing water. She managed to fend it off with her servo-powered arms and only bumped it gently, but more rocks were ahead and she collided with the next one much harder. Then she was suddenly above the surface. For an instant she caught a glimpse of churning water and perhaps land in the distance. Then she was under again and being dragged along the bottom for a dozen meters before glancing off another boulder.

 

_What idiot thought this mission up?_

 

The pounding continued and some of the impacts were hard enough to do real damage if the wrong part of her armor was at the contact point. _This is crazy! We’re gonna be pounded to bits!_ There were only two things she could think to do. The first was to power her suit back up and use her anti-grav and thrusters to get the hell out of the water. But it was still 30 minutes until the main attack began and she would be giving away the whole show if she did that. The only other thing was to jettison her flotation device and then get onto the lee side of some big rock and try to hang on.

 

The second option seemed best so she waited until she was near the bottom again and cut the flotation device loose. She sank to the bottom immediately, but the current was still strong enough to drag her along, her armored hands finding no purchase in the soft sea bed. After a few moments she bumped up against a rock. She tried to get around behind it, but the thing was polished smooth by the endlessly scouring tide and she couldn’t get a hold of it and was swept on again. Periodic messages were coming in on her com, but it was mostly just curses and entirely incoherent and she didn’t bother trying to answer anyone. She knew exactly what the condition of her platoon was and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it.

 

She slammed to a halt against a bigger rock and decided to just stay there and let the water pressure hold her in place. The brief glimpse she’d gotten above the surface told her that the island wasn’t that far off, so this spot would do as well as any other. While she waited, a myriad of objects swept by her, visible for an instant amid the silt and sand. Seaweed, small fish-like creatures, chunks of wood, and at one point she saw something she thought might have been another suit of armor, but they were all gone again so fast she couldn’t see any details. The tide was actually rolling small rocks along with it and some bumped into her. She fended others off with her feet.

 

About ten minutes before H-Hour the current began to weaken. The tide was nearly at its high point and would soon be heading back out again. But C Company would not be going with it! No way! _No way in hell will I ever do this again!_

 

After a few more minutes the current had dropped to the point that she could stand up safely. Without the floatation device she was too heavy to float or swim, but she climbed to the top of the rock and that put her only a dozen meters or so below the surface. The silt was settling down and she could see the sun filtering down through the water. It was nearly time…

 

On the mark, her armor restarted main power. Her communications came to life and the tactical displays updated with information beaming down from orbit. She immediately called up her platoon status display and cursed when she saw that no less than six of her men were tagged as out of action—not including Griesmeyer whom she’d already lost. All of them were still alive and most only had minor injuries, but the buffeting had damaged their armor to the point that they were unable to carry on. _Damn!_

 

Acutely aware that she only had moments before the company would be moving out, she quickly contacted Sergeant Kay and all the squad leaders: “We cannot just leave those men behind! The outgoing tide could carry them out to sea again and damage their suits even worse. Some might not survive that! Assign men to each man down and make sure they get to shore! Move!”

 

The responses were hearteningly confident, but she was now looking at fully a third of her platoon out of action before the first shot was fired. She’d get some of those men back once they’d rescued their comrades, but still… She looked back at the tactical display. Swarms of blue icons were now being shown all over the island. The Regiment was in action. She waited for the order to get C Company into the fray.

 

And waited.

 

Seconds ticked by and she suddenly realized that the icon for Captain Vorstang was missing. _Oh crap…_ She switched to the officers’ circuit. “Captain Vorstang, are you all right, sir? Captain Vorstang, please respond!”

 

She got a response, but it wasn’t Vorstang, it was company First Sergeant Nikolaidis. “Lieutenant, the Captain’s down. I’m with him.”

 

“Is he hurt?”

 

“Yeah, but not badly. But his suit’s a wreck.”

 

“Well then Lieutenant Dahlberg’s going to have to take command, isn’t he?”

 

“I would if I could!” snarled another voice. It was Dahlberg. “My sensors and my tactical display are junk. I’m _blind_ , God damn it!” There was a pause and then he said: “Payne, you’ve got the company. Carry out our orders.”

 

A chill went down Anny’s spine despite the sweat on her brow. A part of her brain was gibbering, but she heard her mouth say: “Yes sir.” She swallowed and then switched to the general circuit.

 

“C Company, this is Lieutenant Payne. I’m taking charge temporarily. All platoons, make sure you get your injured and crippled to shore. Everyone else, we still have a job to do. You know the plan, let’s move out and get it done!” She switched to the 3rd platoon command circuit. “Vorstuban, you okay?”

 

“A little dented, but still operational, Lieutenant. Do… do I have the platoon?”

 

“Yes,” she said. “Try not to get _it_ dented, okay?”

 

“Right, sir… and thanks.”

 

“Get them moving, ensign.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Lieutenant Alby Vorsworth trotted down the ramp of the shuttle with a pile of equipment cradled in his servo-assisted arms. Rad Benin was right behind him. There were enlisted men who were supposed to do this sort of work, but time was critical and the Colonel had little patience with officers who felt that they were above getting their hands dirty. They needed to get the HQ set up as quickly as possible to coordinate the operation. The 61st was hitting the island of Tamborete and the faster they could strike the easier the job ought to be.

 

At least that was the credo of the assault troops: hit hard, hit fast, don’t give the enemy a chance to find his balance and strike back. From what he’d seen so far, it was working well today. The Regiment was down in strength and resistance appeared to be pretty light. _At least I managed to get down on the ground in one piece this time!_ Ever since the ‘incident’ on Dounby where his shuttle had been shot down, Alby had been leery of assault landings, but this time there had been no problem.

 

The Adjutant directed them to a small grove of trees where the HQ was being set up and he put down his load. Techs immediately grabbed the gear and started connecting it. A big display was already in operation and Fetherbay was studying it. More were being set up. Alby had been through this routine before both for real and in simulations. He’d wondered from time to time if all this junk was really necessary. With the armor’s neural interface couldn’t all the display screens just be created artificially in everyone’s head? It was already done that way at the platoon and company level, why not at battalion and regiment? Maybe the sight of a batch of senior officers just standing and staring at nothing was too weird.

 

“The operation seems to be going well,” said Rad.

 

“Yup, so far. Other Alliance troops have been here before—briefly—so it doesn’t seem likely that there could be any major forces here.”

 

“The enemy has shown the ability to move his forces around, despite all of our orbital observation,” pointed out Rad.

 

“True. But the Old Man seems satisfied,” replied Alby, pointing to where Colonel Fetherbay and his senior staff were clustered. Alby and Rad edged a bit closer.

 

“Looking good, sir,” said Captain Templeton, the Operations Officer. “No ground fire at all against the shuttles. They’re all getting down okay.” Fetherbay grunted an acknowledgement. “Not much resistance at all, actually.”

 

“What about 1st Battalion?” asked Fetherbay, pointing to the display. “They’ve got the toughest job, taking Milagres.” That was the largest town on the island and the place where resistance was likely to be heaviest. Most of the Regiment had been split up into company or even platoon sized groups to seize the smaller villages, but the whole 1st Battalion had been assigned Milagres. Two of the companies plus the weapons company were coming in from the landward side while C Company was making a daring assault from the sea.

 

“We’re just getting the first information now, sir,” said Templeton. “Major Vorglanov is reporting significant resistance on the edges of the town. Could be a serious fight.”

 

“What about C Company? Did they get ashore?”

 

Templeton frowned and shook his head. “Reports are sketchy, sir. It looks like they lost a lot of men with damage to their armor coming in. Captain Vorstang is out of action.”

 

“Damn,” said Fetherbay. “I never liked this whole scheme, but the plan came from brigade. We should have just brought them in on shuttles. Is Lieutenant Dahlberg in command now?”

 

“I think so, sir. The enemy seems to have some jammers in operation in the town so we’re not getting a good data feed. But it looks as though at least some of C Company is fighting along the waterfront.”

 

“All right, tell Vorglanov to try and break through to them as soon as he can.”

 

“Yes sir.”

 

“Vorsworth! Stop rubbernecking and get over here.” Alby turned and saw his boss, Captain Hopkins beckoning to him. The job of the S2 personnel was to manage the flow of information to make sure that Fetherbay and his operations staff got the stuff they needed and didn’t get swamped with information they didn’t. It was important work and Alby was well-suited for it. He nodded at Rad and then took one last look at the main display and decided the first thing he would do was to sort out the intel coming from 1st Battalion—and C Company

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Is there anything you need us for, sir?” Jer Naddel asked Captain Andronov.

 

The H Company commander shook his head. “Not right now, Lieutenant. Nothing around here that’s going to require your kind of firepower.”

 

“Yes sir,” replied Jer, trying not to let his disappointment show. The Regiment was securing the island of Tamborete and so far all the fighting had been a job for infantry. There had been no need for the heavy guns of his anti-tank platoon. The mortars of 1st Platoon had fired off a few salvos in support of the battalion, but that was the extent of H Company’s activities so far. Unless the EnBees had some surprises in store, that wasn’t likely to change.

 

“Just stay close to the shuttles in case we do need to redeploy you,” said Androno, who then bounced away to attend to other matters.

 

Jer went back to his men and had them form a defensive perimeter around the grounded shuttles, more to keep the men busy than because of any actual concerns for security. The area they had landed in appeared to just be farmers’ fields. There was a village of stucco-clad houses in the distance which had already been secured. Forests stretched beyond the village and climbed partway up the slopes of a dormant volcano. All in all it seemed a peaceful tropical paradise—except that the only people in sight were the armored behemoths of the 61st. He hadn’t seen a single civilian and that was hardly surprising. If they had any sense they’d stay in their homes and keep their heads down.

 

But as the morning wore on and the sounds of fighting petered out, a few of the locals dared to come out of hiding. At first it was just a few kids, watching from the concealment of the tall grass on the edge of the fields. They probably thought they were watching in secret, but they showed up clearly on sensors. It was probably harmless curiosity, but Jer wondered if they could be spying for real for the EnBees. They’d certainly encountered that sort of thing before. He told his men to stay alert.

 

After a while an elderly couple came down the road from the village and began to point and gesticulate in obvious dismay at what the assault shuttles, troopers, and equipment had done to their crops. A few thousand square meters had been pretty thoroughly squashed. Gathering their courage, the pair eventually approached the perimeter guard and after being scanned were sent through to talk to Jer. He met them between two of the shuttles so that he could open his helmet visor without having to worry about snipers. Shusterman, his platoon sergeant, stayed a few meters away.

 

The man didn’t say much of anything, looking rather intimidated, but the woman made up for him by spouting out a stream of complaints that came so fast his translating software had trouble keeping up. The gist of it was a complaint about the damage to the crops and who was going to pay for it. Jer’s explanation that payments would be made at a later date once things had settled down did not impress the woman in the slightest. She seemed capable of going on all day and he was getting a crick in his back from having to bend over to face her since she only came up to his waist.

 

“Pretty hot action, eh, Naddel?” Jer looked up to see Lieutenant Vorkerkas stroll by with a couple of men. He pointed at the locals. “Hold the line, man! Hold the line!” he laughed and went on. Jer scowled. Since they’d reached Novo Paveo, Vorkerkas had not been quite as much of a jerk as before, but he was still a jerk.

 

The woman continued her rant and Jer looked toward Shusterman with a _get-me-out-of-this_ expression on his face. Shusterman’s expression seemed to say _sorry-sir-you’re-on-your-own_. But just then Andronov was calling him on the com. “Naddel, respond.”

 

“Sir?” said Jer holding up his hand to forestall the woman.

 

“Get you platoon loaded up right away. You’re being redeployed.”

 

“Yes sir. Where to?” Shusterman had been listening in and was already relaying the order to the platoon.

 

“To that big town, Milagres. 1st battalion’s having a hard time of it. C Company is in a fix.”

 

A chill went down Jer’s spine. _Anny!_

 

‘We’re on our way sir!”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Anny Payne flinched back as a plasma blast tore through the lip of the concrete seawall she was moving behind, showering her with masonry fragments.

 

“Stay down, you damn fool! Oh! Sorry, sir, didn’t know it was you!” Anny looked and saw that the man who’d shouted at her was a corporal in 1st Platoon. Most of the men pinned down behind this section of wall were from 1st Platoon although there were some from the other platoons mixed in as well.

 

“No, you’re absolutely right, Corporal,” she replied. “I should keep my fool head down. How’s your squad?”

 

“Not so good, sir. Only a couple casualties from the fire, so far. We lost more from those freaking rocks coming in. But the PMs on most of the lads are nearly out. We try to rush that bunker and we’re toast.”

 

Anny nodded grimly. Things were not going well. The battle plan for the company had been all planned out in detail beforehand, but as the old saying went: no battle plan ever survives contact with the enemy. In this particular case the battle plan hadn’t survived contact with the big rocks out in the harbor. They’d lost too many men, too much of their heavier equipment even before they came ashore.

 

And the enemy wasn’t cooperating, either.

 

The level of resistance they had met was far higher than any of the briefings had indicated. Perhaps the fact that one thing had gone right with the plan—that they had taken the enemy by surprise—was the reason for that. They’d barely gotten out of the water before they encountered large numbers of enemy troops, many of them EnBee regulars, _retreating_ right towards them. Clearly they were falling back in the face of the rest of the battalion’s attack on the other side of town and had not counted on meeting C Company rising out of the ocean directly in their path.

 

Initially, the Barrayarans had been able to take advantage of that surprise and had inflicted a lot of casualties. Smoldering bodies littered the docks and sodden corpses floated out to sea on the receding tide. But the survivors—and there were quite a lot of those—fell back to the buildings along the edge of town and rallied. If Anny had had a full, intact company, she might have been able to keep up enough pressure to turn the retreat into a rout. But she didn’t. Over a third of the men had been out of action one way or another and they were all badly scattered. She’d tried, Ensigns Vorgard and Vorstuban and all the remaining NCOs had tried, to get the company back into order and moving, but that had taken time. Time the enemy had put to good use.

 

They took cover in the buildings and laid down a heavy fire all along the waterfront. None of them were in power armor, but many had half-armor and all carried deadly weapons. Even so, despite all the problems, C Company might still have been able to break through and link up with the rest of the battalion.

 

But no one had counted on the bunkers.

 

They discovered that there was a string of heavily constructed—and shielded—bunkers guarding the harbor area. They were cunningly hidden among the buildings of the town, many disguised as ordinary businesses or dwellings. But each mounted heavy weapons and were protected by a meter of concrete and powerful force fields and plasma mirrors. How they’d remained undetected all this time Anny had no clue, but they were here and they were chewing up the company.

 

Her company.

 

The shock that she was in command had paralyzed her for a moment, but then her training had come to the rescue and she pushed her doubts and worries into the background and forced herself to deal with the problems at hand. The men and NCOs knew what they were supposed to do, she’d just had to get them moving and make sure they did it. And they had done what they could: they had hit the enemy as hard as they could with what they’d had. But now the plan was in the trash bin and Anny had to improvise.

 

Vorstuban and a few of the squads from 3rd Platoon had managed to penetrate into the first blocks of buildings, but they’d lost impetus and couldn’t advance any farther without support. The rest of her troops had knocked out a few of the bunkers, but the enemy had set them up with interlocking fields of fire. Even if one was destroyed, there would be another that could cover the gap. And her troops had expended so much of their ordnance and so many of the charges in their plasma mirrors in taking out the ones they had that they didn’t have much left now. The weapons platoon, the men with just the gear for this sort of job, had suffered the heaviest on the trip in. Only a single mass-driver was in action now. The bulk of the company was pinned down along the waterfront.

 

She’d called for support but she hadn’t gotten anything. The fleet was overhead and there were ships up there that could vaporize those bunkers in an eyeblink. But they would also probably take out everything for half a city block around them. They were here to pacify the place, not level it. Her requests for fire support had been overruled.

 

She’d gotten through to Major Vorglanov a while ago and he’d told her to just hold where she was and the rest of the battalion would break through to her. It had seemed like a good idea. But in the last few minutes the enemy fire had gotten heavier if anything. Her tactical display—when it could get a clear uplink—showed the battalion pushing toward her along several of the main streets, but it also showed more of the enemy massing against her front. Were they trying to break through her? Through to where? The sea? All the boats in the harbor, the ones that weren’t burning, were grounded with the ebbing tide. Maybe they were just thinking to smash C Company, hurt the enemy, before they were forced to surrender. Whatever their plan, Anny had to be ready to counter it. Unfortunately, at the moment, there wasn’t a whole lot she could see to do that they weren’t already doing.

 

_That bunker. That one right there. If we could take that one out…_

 

There was a bunker about 200 meters away. It was still blasting plasma at anything that moved, but the two bunkers on either side had been knocked out earlier. If they could take out the remaining one there would be a 400 meter gap in the enemy line that none of the other bunkers could fire at. Anny could move what was left of her company through that gap, get in among the buildings, and be in a whole lot better position to hold out until relieved. But taking out the bunker was not going to be easy.

 

The bunker was not only equipped with a standard force screen which would stop energy fire or any physical object from passing through, but it had a full plasma mirror which could reflect plasma fire back at the person who had shot it. Anny and her troopers had partial plasma mirrors with their armor. Their mirrors could deflect a plasma bolt, splash it away harmlessly, but they could not direct it back at the firer. But every time a plasma mirror—full or partial—was hit, it was drained to some degree and could only recharge slowly. But the bunker had a bigger reserve and a faster recharge rate. Somehow they had to deplete the bunker’s PM and then weaken the force field enough to allow them to destroy it—all without getting killed themselves.

 

Standard doctrine called for massed plasma fire from as many different directions as possible. This would drain the PM of the target while limiting the number of back-blasts the individual attackers would suffer. Once the PM was drained then more fire could bring down the force field enough for something, a mass–driver, say, to get a lethal shot through. That was, in fact, how they’d knocked out the other bunkers. But in doing so, most of the men’s plasma mirrors were nearly drained. If they tried it again, some of them were going to get hurt. She called up the status display for the troopers nearby and grimaced when she saw that nearly all of them had plasma mirrors which were at less than 25%. Some were at zero. The armor of their suits was tough, it could provide protection from a heavy plasma bolt for a few seconds, but only a few. Maybe it would be better to just wait here…

 

“Lieutenant Payne! Anny! Are you there?” It was Ensign Vorgard, 2nd Platoon.

 

“I’m here, Eric, what’s the situation?”

 

“Not good! I’ve got about fifty hostiles moving around my right flank. I’ve only got a half-squad holding them back. But if they overrun them and make it to that breakwater, they’ll have the whole company in enfilade. They’ll be able to rake the sea wall from end to end. But I haven’t got anyone to spare to reinforce. What do you want me to do?”

 

Damn. She’d been afraid something like this would happen. She called the Major to see how long until the relief arrived, but he couldn’t give her anything other than some encouraging words. “Do as you think the situation demands, Lieutenant. You’re in command.”

 

 

“Sergeant Nikolaidis.” She had the company first sergeant running 1st platoon and she called him up on her com.

 

“Sir?”

 

“We’re going to have to take out that bunker.”

 

“Gonna be costly, sir.”

 

“I know, but not as costly as staying here might get. The flank’s giving way and we need to get our men into the town.”

 

“Right. I’ll get the lads ready, sir.” Nikolaidis didn’t sound happy and she couldn’t blame him.

 

“Wait. Here’s what I want to do. If we can get everyone firing at once, we ought to be able to take down the bunker’s PM without getting hurt too bad.”

 

“Yes sir, but doing that’s gonna use up just about all we’ve got left on our mirrors. We’ll have to stay exposed to return fire to take down the force field and there’s a hell of a lot of fire still coming our way.”

 

“I know, I know. But I’ve got a demo charge here and if we can just weaken the field a bit, someone can force their way through to plant it.”

 

Long pause. “Who’s gonna do that… sir?”

 

“My shields are still at 75%, Sergeant.”

 

“Sir! I don’t think that’s…”

 

“No choice, and I’ve got a better chance than anyone else. Get the men ready to open up, on my mark.”

 

“Yes, sir. Give me a minute.”

 

Anny swallowed hard and tried to stop shaking. This was crazy! A company commander had no business assaulting a bunker! But it _was_ the best chance. There was a trick that assault troopers could do with the shielding in their armor. Against a sufficiently weakened force field you could have your own shields neutralize a section of the enemy field and you could actually push your way through. But to do it, you needed as close to a full charge on your shields as possible. No one else nearby had enough left to try this. And if it worked, it would shave priceless seconds off the time needed to take out the bunker. It could save half her men—if it worked. She used her interface to adjust her shield settings for a penetration. Then she called Ensign Vorgard. “Eric, we’re going to punch a hole through the center here. Get ready to pull your men back and then follow us through. Bring your wounded if you can.”

 

“Right, Anny. The sooner the better.”

 

“Ready, sir,” said Nikolaidis.

 

She picked up the demolition charge she’d gotten off a wounded man from the weapons platoon and took a deep breath. “C Company, covering fire… _now_!”

 

The men behind the sea wall popped up and began blasting away. Incandescent beams of energy speared out, flashed brightly against the bunker’s mirror, and then bounced back to hit the men who had fired them. Anny had once seen a vid of plasma fire between two objects with full plasma mirrors. It had looked like some insane game of cross-ball with the bolts flashing back and forth until they were spent. This wasn’t quite so crazy with each bolt only bouncing once, but with over twenty men firing it was crazy enough.

 

She remained crouched down, not daring to weaken her own shields by firing. But her men were firing and their mirrors were being depleted—fast. Some men could only fire a shot or two before their PMs were too low to risk another shot. Others hung on and kept blasting. A few hung on too long. For it wasn’t just their own bounce-backs that were hitting them. The bunker was firing and there were still other EnBees in the shattered buildings around the bunker. Nikolaidis had assigned a few of the men with little or nothing left in their mirrors to suppress them as best they could, but there was still a lot of fire coming from them.

 

And some of it was hitting home. Men who hoped to get off just one more shot before taking cover were being hit not only by their own bounce-backs but simultaneously by other fire. Their shield failed and they went down. The number of casualties on Anny’s status display rose alarmingly.

 

But then, suddenly the bunker wasn’t bouncing the fire back anymore. _We’ve taken down the mirror! Good!_

 

More of her men, the ones with PM’s too low to risk bounce-back, began popping up to fire and then ducking down again. Their shots splashed off the bunker’s force field but they were weakening it. Anny focused her sensors on the bunker and could see the power level dropping. Eighty, seventy, sixty percent. If they could get it down around forty she ought to be able to force her way through.

 

But the company’s fire was slackening. Too many men were going down. Anny took the risk of popping up and taking a shot herself and managed to duck down again safely. Fifty percent, forty-five… She got ready to move.

 

As she did so a half dozen troopers, crouching low, scuttled up around her. “What are you doing?” she demanded. None of them had working plasma mirrors.

 

“Gonna go with you, sir,” said one.

 

“No you’re not…”

 

“First Sergeant’s orders, sir. Gotta take some fire offa you. Only way you’ll have a hope of making it.”

 

Anny might have argued, but there was no time. The moment was now. She leapt forward, over the sea wall.

 

“All right! Let’s go!”

 

She bounded forward, zig-zagging, and covering ten meters with each stride. She carried the demolition charge in one hand and she blazed away with her own plasma arc with the other. A plasma bolt hit her and then another. She cursed to see her shield level drop below sixty percent. It was going to be close.

 

She seemed to be running down a tunnel of flame as shots, both friendly and enemy seared the air all around her. She slowed as she reached the bunker’s shield. She couldn’t do this too fast. He shield touched the bunker’s and a coruscating aura of lighting surrounded her. She took one step and then another. The field was resisting and it was like walking through thick mud. One more step ought to…

 

The field seized her and flung her backwards. She slammed into the ground and skidded to a halt ten meters from the bunker.

 

_Damn!_

 

She scrambled to her feet, but her shields were at zero. She couldn’t try again. All she could think to do was put the demo charge up against the bunker’s shield and hope it would bring it down. Maybe the company could take it out with their fire then. The snout of the heavy plasma gun in the bunker was swinging her way.

 

“Anny! Get down!”

 

A voice rang in her ears and she froze. She knew that voice…

 

“Jer?”

 

_“Get down!”_

 

She threw herself flat and an instant later there was a thunderbolt crack that she could feel through her armor. The bunker exploded in flames and chunks of concrete came raining down on and around her. The battle armor spared her the worst of it, but she still felt stunned. A cacophony of messages swirled over the com. Something was happening, but it was hard to make out what. _Gotta get up._

 

“You okay, Lieutenant?” An armored hand pushed a block of masonry off her and then helped pull her to her feet.

 

“Yeah, yeah, thanks. What’s happening?” She looked around and the firing seemed to have mostly stopped. Armored assault troopers were moving past her.

 

“Got some help,” said the trooper. He pointed past the remains of the bunker and Anny saw a heavy mass driver on an anti-grav platform at the end of the block. “Seems like that broke their back, sir.”

 

EnBees were coming out of the buildings with their hands up. New troops, not C Company, were taking charge of them. Anny tried to call up her tactical display, but it wasn’t working. Half her displays seemed to be out, but she still had communications. “Sergeant Nikolaidis?”

 

“Here, sir.”

 

“I’ve lost my TAC. What’s the situation?”

 

“Looks like it’s over, sir. Except for mopping up and cleaning up. Lot of that to do.”

 

“Yeah. Well let’s get to it.”

 

She started rounding up her men. Medical shuttles were already coming in to land. _Sure hope they brought some cryo-pods. We’re gonna need them!_ She dreaded to see what the butcher’s bill was going to be for this mess.

 

Then she saw someone approaching her. Despite the situation, she smiled when she saw who it was.

 

But Jer wasn’t smiling. “Just what the hell did you think you were doing?” he demanded, pointing at the bunker.

 

She shrugged. “Just passing the time until you slow pokes got here. Had to stay busy, you know.”

 

“Anny…” She held up a hand to silence him and then gently punched him on the shoulder.

 

“But now that you are here… thanks.”

 

 

**Chapter 20**

 

_D_ _ear Mrs. Kominski,_

 

_By now you will have gotten the official notification of your husband’s death. I just wanted to write to you to express the regrets and sympathy of myself and the entire company. Rolf was a valued member of his platoon, well-liked, hard-working and courageous. He will be sorely missed. He died while involved in…_

 

“Involved in the most fouled-up operation you can imagine!” growled Anny Payne under her breath. She pushed herself away from the desk and ran her hands through her hair. This was the fourth such letter she’d forced herself to write. Four more to go after this one.

 

She supposed that C Company _had_ been lucky to only have had eight ‘really dead’ and six more ‘almost dead’ from the operation. Plus another twelve who were wounded seriously enough to go home with the six cryo-pods and thirty more who would be able to stay to return to duty eventually. Lucky! A third of the company casualties and they called it lucky!

 

It could have been a lot worse she conceded, but the fact remained that C Company had suffered more serious casualties than the rest of the regiment combined. _And all because of that stupid harbor attack!_

 

Technically it was called a _coup de main_ , ‘an offensive operation that capitalizes on surprise and simultaneous execution of supporting operations to achieve success in one swift stroke’, was how it was defined in the textbooks. She and the rest of C Company would use a different set of words to describe it! She’d done some historical research after they were briefed on the operation and it was clear that this sort of thing was loved by the high command and hated by the people who actually had to carry them out. Sometimes they worked spectacularly, but just as often they failed—spectacularly. And in that context C Company _was_ lucky: all too frequently the _coup de main_ force was annihilated when things went wrong. She’d tried to find out who, exactly, had come up with the idea, but with no success. Probably just as well.

 

She shook the image of throttling that anonymous staff officer out of her head and pulled herself back to the comconsole. What could she say to Mrs. Kominski that wouldn’t sound exactly like the previous letters? She had to assume that the new widows and bereaved mothers might compare notes so she didn’t want to just copy each message. Had she ever met Lara Kominski in the women’s groups she’d set up at Fort Vorolson? Perhaps she should send a message to Sara Fetherbay, too…

 

While she was pondering, Jac came into her quarters and started tidying things up. He came behind her and paused. “Ah,” he sighed. “Sad duty, that, Miss. The Regiment hasn’t had this many transfers to the White Battalion in a long while.”

 

Anny swiveled her chair to face her dog-robber. She always smiled when he forgot and called her ‘miss’. But this time she didn’t smile. “ _White Battalion_?I’ve heard some of the other old timers—I mean other veterans—use the term a few times. What’s it mean, Jac?”

 

Now Jac smiled. “It’s all right to call me an old timer, sir. No use tryin’ to hide the truth.” Now his smile became sad. “But White Battalion? Oh, that’s just an expression we use sometimes. When a fellow passes on we say he’s transferred to the White Battalion. Everyone ends up there sooner or later. The one battalion that’s always at full strength.”

 

 _Ghosts. He means it’s a battalion of the dead._ Anny was moved and touched and, to her surprise, a little comforted at the thought. She sighed.

 

“Yeah, a whole new squad reporting in. What do I say to these women, Jac?”

 

“You’re writing all the letters? All eight? But only three were from your platoon.”

 

“Vorstang said that since I was in command I should have the honor. I guess he’s right. But I hardly knew some of these men.” She looked at him hard, her throat tight. “If it was you making the transfer, Jac, what would you want me to say to Polly?”

 

Jac looked thoughtful and scratched at an old scar on his cheek. He looked at the screen of her comconsole, reading what she’d written so far. “It’s not so much the words, Lieutenant, though these are fine words, it’s the fact that you took the time to write ‘em. That’s what really counts. Polly’d be glad to know that I was worth the writing to you. That she isn’t grievin’ for me alone. You’re doin’ fine, just fine.”

 

She looked back at the screen. “I was… angry.”

 

“I know. Sometimes a person can’t help but be. Only natural to be when things could have been done better.”

 

“Things _should_ have been done better!”

 

“Maybe. But a person could drive themselves mad worryin’ about all the could-haves and should-haves in the world. The only things worth botherin’ with are the right-nows and the first-thing-tomorrows, Lieutenant. You get your mind all wound up with those other things and you’re asking for a quick transfer. Wouldn’t want that, an’ that’s the truth.”

 

Anny slowly nodded and then reached out and patted Jac’s arm. “Thanks. But don’t you think about transferring any time soon, either.”

 

“Don’t have any plans to. Gotta watch out for you, Lieutenant.”

 

Anny smiled and nodded. “Yeah, I need a lot of looking after, don’t I? Always getting into trouble.”

 

“I was a tad alarmed when I heard about what you did with that bunker, Miss. Not the proper job for an officer.”

 

“Yeah, Captain Vorstang chewed me out pretty good for that.” Anny winced at the memory.

 

“But he was real impressed with how you took command when you had to.”

 

Anny snorted. “Not that he told me!”

 

“Well of course he wouldn’t tell you. But I’ve got my ways of knowing, Lieutenant, and he was right pleased with you.” Anny was a little surprised, but thinking back, Vorstang did say a few things that could almost be taken as compliments during breaks in the chewing out. But how did Jac know what Vorstang felt? The dog-robber network? Probably.

 

Jac went back to his tidying and Anny forced herself to write the rest of the letters and a short note to Mrs. Fetherbay asking about how the families were dealing with the casualties. She did some more paperwork and then rewarded herself with a break. She had no duty until that evening so she had the whole afternoon to herself. And she needed to be by herself for a while. She buckled on her belt with the hand plasma arc in its holster, put on her cap and left her quarters.

 

Her quarters were now in a pre-fabricated module that had been flown in from Araxa. They were the same type as they’d been using at the huge base there, but the setting could hardly have been more different. While Fort Gatchall was part of a vast sea of concrete surrounded by large buildings, the regiment was occupying Tamborete in company-sized encampments and C Company’s was situated in a pleasant meadow outside the town.

 

Since their objective was to pacify the island, not conquer it, they were trying to not look like an invading army. Of course they _did_ look like an invading army, but at least a small one. 1 st Battalion was garrisoning the big town of Milagres, the one they’d fought to take. The companies were spaced around the outskirts in fortified camps, while battalion and regimental HQs were inside the town itself along with various support troops and the medical companies.

 

Aside from the initial fighting, things had been peaceful since the Regiment had arrived. There had been a cleverly hidden fortified base inside Milagres but not a lot else on the island. Once the resistance at that base had been neutralized, things had settled down. At least for the moment.

 

Anny hitched a ride on an armored transport vehicle into town. She’d have preferred to walk and stretch her legs, but things weren’t quite settled down to the point that individual soldiers could walk around alone and she didn’t want to order up an escort. There were a few other soldiers in the vehicle with her. They nodded to her courteously, but didn’t attempt to make conversation, which was fine by her at the moment.

 

It only took a few minutes to reach the center of town. It wasn’t really a large place; population around 25,000 or so, although it was huge compared to the little village Anny had grown up in. There were another 50,000 scattered in smaller towns and villages around the island. Anny had seen a few of those villages and they were a lot more like what she had been used to.

 

But Milagres was a clean, modern town—or it had been until the 61st and the EnBees had blown the hell out of it. The damage wasn’t actually all that bad in most places; the waterfront area was the worst. After the battle they had brought in a battalion of engineers and they were rumbling around with heavy equipment, clearing the rubble and getting the power and water systems back on-line. Anny had heard they would be staying to rebuild wrecked homes and businesses, too.

 

She wandered around the main square. There were guards posted, many in battle armor, all over. The buildings reminded her a bit of that first place they’d taken shore leave on the way here. What the hell was its name? Lengkeek? Yeah, that was it. Oh yeah, that hotel… Anny smiled. Most of the buildings here were only a few stories high with stucco walls and red roofs, and like Lengkeek there were shaded colonnades along the streets. Of course the natives here were not blue-white nor the plants purple, but the architectural style was similar. The only really big structure was a palace-like affair that had apparently belonged to the local grandee who ran Tamborete. Regimental HQ was there now.

 

Anny walked the streets without plan, but her feet took her toward the waterfront. She didn’t want to see that place again, but her feet took her there anyway. The damage here was the worst and the engineers numerous. There hadn’t been many locals on the street even in the center of town, and here they were almost entirely lacking. She walked to where the remains of that bunker lay. She hadn’t really had the chance to take a close look at it before and there wasn’t much left of it now. Jer’s heavy mass driver had really done a job on it. The engineers had already swept up most of the loose debris and apparently they planned to demolish the remains as well.

 

She stood there a while, replaying her crazy assault in her head. She was lucky to be alive, she decided. Even if she’d managed to get through the force field and plant the demolition charge, her chances of getting safely away would not have been good. Jer had saved her life, no doubt about it.

 

She turned and headed to one of the undestroyed sections of docks. The tide was going out and she watched as the waters were sucked away at incredible speed. She was amazed to see a boat navigating the rushing waters. A lot of the locals were fishermen and somehow _they_ managed to get in and out of the harbor without getting smashed to pulp. _We should have talked to them before we attacked._

 

The boat quickly dwindled to a speck and then disappeared behind a small island that sat in the middle of the semi-circular harbor. Tamborete, like many of the islands on Novo Paveo, had volcanic origins. The harbor was the ancient remains of a caldera nearly ten kilometers across. The chunk of rock out there marked its center. She found a spot to sit down and watched the sea go away. After a while, the island in the harbor wasn’t an island anymore, it was a strangely shaped spire of rock. It was a beautiful day and Anny didn’t feel like doing anything at all; her usual restless energy was missing—sucked away like the water.

 

After a while she felt eyes on her and slowly turned. A small boy was watching from a dozen meters away. He tensed when she turned, but didn’t flee. “Hello,” she said in Portuguese. She had picked up a little of the local dialect, but only a little. The boy didn’t answer. “I am Anny. What is your name?”

 

The boy considered this for quite a while before replying: “Paulo.”

 

“Hello, Paulo.” That just about exhausted her vocabulary and she pulled out her compad with its translator program.

 

But to her surprise the boy said: “Hello Anny.” In English.

 

“Ah, you speak English?”

 

“A little. They teach in school. Used to.”

 

“Well, your English is way better than my Portuguese! How do you do?”

 

“Good. You are Barr-a-ya-ran?” He mangled the last word so badly it took her a moment to realize what he’d asked.

 

“Yes.”

 

“You soldier?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Girl soldier? Not see Barrayaran girl soldiers.”

 

“There aren’t many of us yet.” _Only one technically. But the Second Six graduate this year._

 

“You fight?”

 

“Yeah, I fight. When I have to.”

 

“Fight here? Kill EnBees?”

 

“I fought here. Not sure if I killed anyone. But aren’t you an EnBee?”

 

“No!” said the boy emphatically. “Novo Pavaean! Not EnBee!”

 

“Ah, I see.” So he was a rebel, not a loyalist. A rather small scrawny rebel, but still a rebel. Theoretically, they were on the same side.

 

He came a bit closer. He had black hair and light brown skin and big brown eyes. He was kind of cute, under a coat of dirt. “You live around here?” she asked.

 

He pointed. “That way.”

 

“Did… did your home get damaged in the fighting?”

 

“One hole in wall!” said the boy as if it was a grand thing, making a circular shape with his hands. “But we hide in… in… room under the ground.”

 

“The basement?”

 

“Yes! My Mama and sis hide there. I want to watch battle, but Mama not let me.” He looked sad and disgusted.

 

“Your mama is very smart. Battles are not things to watch. Very dangerous. What about your father?”

 

“Gone. Long time.” Anny didn’t know what to make of that. A long time was a very subjective thing for a kid that age. Gone since before the war or gone since last month? She didn’t really want to know.

 

“That your gun?” asked Paulo, edging closer and pointing at her holster.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Can I see?”

 

“No.”

 

He looked disappointed, but with his hand still out Anny noticed that it was discolored and seemed to be hurting him. “What happened to your hand?” she asked. The boy drew it back and frowned.

 

“Burned. Saw funny piece of metal in ground after battle. Dug up, but still hot.” He shrugged. “No problem.”

 

“Can I see?” The boy looked doubtful, but after a bit of coaxing he eventually let her examine his hand. “It’s infected,” she said but Paulo didn’t understand. “Sick in hand. Get more sick. Do you have a doctor?”

 

“No. EnBees took away doctors. No doctors.” The boy looked worried.

 

“Well then, come along with me. I know some doctors.” She got to her feet. But he didn’t want to go with her. All her coaxing was in vain this time and Paulo was edging away. Finally, as a last resort, she said: “If you come and see the doctor, I’ll let you see my gun.”

 

At that his eyebrows popped up. “See gun?”

 

“After the doctor.”

 

“Okay! We go!”

 

Anny smiled and led the way to where the medical company had its facilities, Paulo alternately following along and skipping ahead. Unlike the base at Araxa, here the medics were allowed to treat the locals. Encouraged to, actually. They were here to win ‘hearts and minds’ and part of that was to also heal bodies. The medical company had a half dozen modules set up in a vacant lot, but they had taken over a building next to it to use as the treatment facility for the locals. A short line wound out the door, but Anny by-passed it and took Paulo around to the side entrance and sought out Chris Tropio.

 

“Hi Anny!” said the woman. “Say, what have you got there?”

 

“This is Paulo. Paulo, this is my friend, Chris. Chris, Paulo has got a burn on his hand that I think is infected.”

 

“Well, I’m sure we can fix that up. Hello Paulo,” said Chris, switching to Portuguese. She was much better at it than Anny. “Can I see your hand?” The woman’s friendly manner seemed to put the boy at ease and he suffered her to take a look at his hand and run some scanners over all of him and even take a small blood sample. “Yes, there is definitely an infection,” she said after consulting her instruments. “I’m going to give you a wide-spectrum antibiotic that should take care of things. And I’ll bandage up your hand, too.”

 

“Paulo tells me there are no doctors in town. Is that true?” asked Anny while Chris worked.

 

“Nearly,” said Chris frowning. “Apparently during the civil war that was going on before we got here, the two sides tried to grab control of the infrastructure and that included the people who ran it. Doctors, engineers, teachers, most were rounded up by one side or the other. We’ve had a couple of doctors come out of hiding since we got here and they’re helping in the clinic, but for the last six or eight months there’s been no real medical service on Tamborete beyond what they could provide in secret. The EnBees were keeping a tight hold on this place.”

 

“So I guess the locals are pretty glad to see you.”

 

“Yeah. For the most part the people seem pretty healthy, although undernourished. But that wasn’t going to last much longer without help. The locals were suspicious at first, but more and more are coming to see us.”

 

“Undernourished? But this place is nearly all agriculture and fishing. Were the EnBees taking the food, too?” She reevaluated Paulo’s skinny frame.

 

“A lot of it from what I’m hearing. I guess many of the other farming regions have been fought over a lot and production is way down. Tamborete was spared a lot of that, luckily. There! Paulo, you are all fixed up. And don’t you pick at the bandage! It will fall off in good time.”

 

The boy looked his hand over and wiggled the fingers. “Thank you,” he said. Then he turned to Anny. “You said I could see gun.” Chris turned toward her, frowning accusingly.

 

Anny blushed and shrugged, “It was the only way I could get him to come with me.” She took out her plasma arc, removed the power pack, and confirmed that it was harmless before handing it to the boy. Paulo looked at it delightedly. It was too big for one of his hands so he held it in both and started pointing it around the exam room making zapping sounds.

 

“Hey! Hey!” cried Anny in mock alarm. “That’s no way to handle a gun!” Enlisting Chris’ aid as a translator she gave him a quick lesson in gun safety and then eventually repossessed her firearm and put it back in its holster. “Well, I have duty in an hour and I think I better get you home. Come on Paulo.”

 

The boys’ home wasn’t far away and Anny escorted him there to make sure he stayed out of trouble. While they walked Paulo kept asking questions. “You drive EnBees out?”

 

“That’s the idea.”

 

“And you stay until they gone and not come back?”

 

“That’s the idea.”

 

“How long?”

 

Anny shook her head. “I have no idea.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Lady Akuti Tejaswini Jyoti ghem Estif Arqua Vorpatril lay on a lounge chair, sipping a cold drink, and watched what appeared to be a tidal wave roaring toward her.

 

“Impressive, huh?” said her husband Ivan Xav from beside her.

 

“Yes,” she said. Actually it was rather frightening even though she knew the churning water would not reach her. Their chairs were perched on a cliff overlooking the northern coast of the main continent, about a hundred kilometers from Araxa. A few weeks earlier they had moved into a new apartment in the diplomatic compound of that city. It was nice enough she supposed, but when they learned that a well-secured resort had been set up by the sea, they ended up spending a lot of their time here. She’d seen the tide come crashing in a dozen times now, but to the space-station bred Tej it was still kind of scary. So much raw power, totally out of anyone’s control. The waves reached the base of the cliff and sent up huge splashes of water that soared dozens of meters above their heads. Fortunately, the wind blew the spray back out to sea instead of on to them. The noise was such that they had to speak loudly to be heard.

 

“Kind of like being back on Ylla,” said Ivan Xav. “Not the view, I mean, but there we had a beautiful ocean that we didn’t dare to swim in and it’s the same here.”

 

“Except that there you got eaten by sea monsters while here you get smashed to bits by the waves. But I agree that it is beautiful.”

 

“Well, there is that one section of beach where you can swim for a half hour or so at high tide.”

 

“No thanks, I’ll stick to the pool.” They sat there for a while watching the tide come in. Eventually the most violent part of the process was over and the spray and the noise subsided a bit. “What’s that way off in the distance? That gray patch on the horizon. Is it another island?”

 

“Yes, I think that’s Tamborete.”

 

“Oh, that’s the place your troops captured last month? You were talking about that a lot for a while.”

 

“Uh huh. The brass are quite excited about it. We beat up the EnBees pretty bad during the assault and now the new pacification program seems to be working well.”

 

“I didn’t realize it was so close. But this isn’t the only place you’re trying to do this sort of thing, right? That whole ‘new approach’ thing?”

 

“Right. We’ve got our troops spread out all over the planet. You never really got a look at the base at Araxa before this started, but it’s a ghost town now compared to what it was. Not just the Barrayaran contingent, but all the others, too. They’re all out trying to pacify the planet one small chunk at a time.”

 

“And is it working?”

 

“A little too early to tell, but the generals are hopeful. The critical thing is going to be getting the local militias trained so they’ll have real security even after our boys leave. And unfortunately, we’re not just fighting the EnBees, we have to keep President Rodrigues and his gang at arm’s reach, too. The locals just don’t trust the revolutionary government and it’s hard to blame them.”

 

“But if you are setting these militias up as independent from the central government won’t that lead to competition between the two?” demanded Tej. “That could end up meaning hundreds of independent military forces and, why, it could end up the way we run things on Jackson’s Whole!” Tej paused, looked at Ivan Xav slyly, and then added: “Not that I’m admitting that is a bad thing, of course.”

 

Her husband looked around to make sure they couldn’t be overheard by any of the other people who were enjoying the view. “Yeah, that could well be a serious problem down the road. But from the vibrations I’m picking up, I don’t think anyone really cares what happens once we leave here. The objective is to rout out the Enbees, make sure this place can never be used by them as a base, and then get out as soon as we can decently do so. I think Vorpinski is working on some scheme for a simultaneous withdrawal of both us and the Cetagandans so neither one can grab an advantage.”

 

“Huh,” said Tej. “Kind of hard on the locals, but I can see that it would make sense for everyone else. So does that mean we can leave before too much longer?”

 

“Anxious to go home?”

 

“Starting to get that way,” she admitted.

 

“Well, it will be at least a few more months before anything is decided, but after that, yeah, I think it’s time to go home.

 

“Good.”

 

* * *

 

 

“No! No! Your _other_ left, you worthless bastards!”

 

Jer Naddel, glanced over his shoulder at the shout, and found himself smiling as Adrien Vorkerkas’ training platoon disintegrated into chaos. Half the people had turned one way while the rest had turned the other and the formation had become a milling scrum. More curses rang across the open field they were using a as drill ground, but Jer returned his attention to his own platoon to make sure the same thing didn’t happen to it.

 

The occupation of Tamborete was going smoothly. All the EnBee facilities had been captured and fast-penta interrogations of the prisoners had allowed them to root out a lot of other personnel and sympathizers among the populace. Sadly, all the captured officers had been given the fast-penta allergy conditioning and couldn’t be questioned that way. Jer was sure that the Intel people had been hoping to get leads to where the other EnBee bases were hidden, but so far (at least as far as he knew) nothing had been turned up using other methods of interrogation.

 

Phase one of the operation, seizing the island, was complete. Now it was on to the next phase: creating a stable local government and defense force that could make sure the EnBees didn’t come back once the Regiment pulled out. A major part of that was creating a local militia and Jer was one of the officers who had been tapped for that job. It made sense, he supposed; there was almost nothing for the heavy weapons units to do in garrisoning the island. So the officers and many of the NCOs of all three weapons companies and even some of the weapons platoons of the rifle companies had been drafted into the effort.

 

And so, Jer found himself in command of a ‘company’ of raw recruits. The island had been divided up into nine recruiting districts, three in the big town of Milagres, and the rest covering the remainder of the island. Training facilities had been set up with tents and support services. The camp Jer was at was located close to where he and 3rd Battalion had made their initial landing. The extinct volcano at the north end of the island towered up beyond the forests.

 

So far the recruits had only come in a trickle and his company was barely the size of a platoon. But considering that every recruit had to pass a fast-penta exam to declare themselves loyal to the new government and not an EnBee sympathizer, Jer was amazed that they had gotten as many people as they had. They were all young, some extremely young, and to the consternation of many of the Barrayarans training them, about third of them were women.

 

There had been some protests about that at first, but there was no getting around it. EnBee society and Novo Pavean, too, naturally, had long ago gotten rid of gender chauvinism and trying to keep women out of the new formations would have wrecked the project before it even got started. Jer, of course, had no problems with it and he was convinced that was why his own company was well over half women while many of the others had a much smaller proportion.

 

“Companhia, parar! Frente!” Jer had managed to memorize all the basic drill commands in the local language and he was pleased that his troops were responding to them correctly. His company halted and faced front just as he’d ordered. He’d been drilling them all afternoon and their faces were ruddy and sweat-covered, but most still looked eager and interested. He switched on his microphone and translator. “All right, everyone. Well done. You are starting to look like soldiers.” He paused while the translation was made and transmitted to the tiny speakers in the troops’ ears. Smiles appeared on most of the faces. “We are done for today. Get showered, get some chow, and get some rest. We go back to work in the morning. Questions?”

 

There was some nervous shuffling in the ranks and then one boy put up his hand. Jer hadn’t memorized all the names and faces yet, so he just nodded at him. The boy said something and a moment later the translation came through on Jer’s earbud. “Please, noble sir, when do we get our guns?”

 

“And our uniforms?” said another.

 

“Yes! We were promised uniforms!”

 

“And guns!” More voices rang out.

 

“Quiet in the ranks!” roared Jer. A guilty silence followed and Jer scowled at them for a good minute.

 

“You will be given guns and uniforms when you have earned them!” he said. “Guns do not make soldiers! Uniforms do not make soldiers! It is what is in here…” he tapped his head, “…and in here…” he thumped a fist over his heart, “… that makes soldiers! When you have proved yourselves worthy, you will be given uniforms and guns!” He let the translator work on that for a few moments and then let it sink in for a few more. “However… you are all doing well. It will not be too much longer until you receive what you are asking for.” A translation-delayed cheer followed and now they were all smiling again. “All right. Enough for one day. Companhia! Atencao! Liberar!”

 

The troops snapped to attention and then broke ranks, chattering excitedly. Nearly all of them headed toward the tents which had been set up for their use. Jer turned and walked toward the modules the Barrayarans used. He quickly realized that he wasn’t alone. One of the trainees, a young woman, was following along a few steps behind. She smiled shyly when he looked at her. “Yes?” he said. “You want something, recruit?”

 

She let loose a rapid string of Portuguese that Jer couldn’t hope to follow. His translator made a valiant attempt, produced a few incoherent words in English, and then beeped plaintively. Jer made a calming gesture with his hands. “Slow down. Devagar!” The girl put a hand over her mouth and blushed. She tried again, speaking much slower.

 

“Sir Naddel,” said the translator, “I wanted to thank you for all your help. You are so patient with us. Much more patient than…” she glanced toward where Vorkerkas was still trying to get his troops back in some sort of order. “…than some of the others. You are a very grand officer.”

 

“Oh, well thank you, Recruit… ah… Levine. You are all working very hard.”

 

The girl seemed delighted that he’d remembered her name, even though it was pinned to her shirt. He started walking again, but she stayed right with him. “Some of my comrades are too eager. I tell them to have patience, just as you do. But they mean no insult to you, sir.”

 

“Oh, I know that,” said Jer. “They are good people and will make good soldiers.” Another dazzling smile from the girl. She was almost a full head shorter than Jer and really very pretty.

 

“I can do other things than march,” she said. “Cook, clean… other things. You just ask!” She looked at him with big, dark eyes.

 

Jer blinked. Was she actually flirting with him? He knew that among the mixed companies quite a lot of… shenanigans, as Anny would say, were going on—but with each other! It hadn’t really occurred to him that it might extend beyond… A nasty thought struck him: were the other Barrayaran trainers taking advantage of this? Definitely not good for discipline.

 

“Ah, w-well, thank you, recruit,” he stammered. “If I need anything I’ll let you know. Now you need to get back with your comrades.” He pointed toward the tents.

 

The girl’s face fell for an instant, but then she laughed. “Yes sir!” She gave him an exaggerated salute and then ran off. Jer watched her go.

 

“Everything all right, Mister Naddel?”

 

Jer spun around and there was Captain Andronov watching him. A half-smile was on his face.

 

“Uh, yessir! The recruits are enthusiastic and willing—to learn, I mean!. We just need some more of them.”

 

“Yes. And you’re doing a good job with them. I wish everyone was doing as well.” Andronov paused and pointed to where the girl was trotting away. “But watch out for that sort of thing. It’s crazy enough around here as it is. We don’t need to add any more craziness, do we?”

 

“Uh, no sir! That’s for sure!”

 

“Good. Carry on.”

 

Jer saluted and Andronov went back into his office module. Jer let out his breath.

 

_Crazy? That’s for sure!_

 

 

**Chapter 21**

 

_P_ _ublic Relations! I can’t get away from it! It’s followed me halfway across the Nexus!_

 

Anny looked out at the room full of young faces and couldn’t help but think about her job back at Fort Vorolson. The setting might be an unimaginable distance from her home and the children Novo Pavean rather Barrayaran, but the task before her was still the same: keep people happy.

 

She spotted young Paulo sitting in the second row. He had a look of proprietary satisfaction on his face. Ever since their first meeting he seemed to have decided that Anny was his very own Barrayaran soldier. He’d actually sought her out one day at her base outside of town; just showed up at the gate and asked for her. She’d escorted him home immediately to a frantic and grateful mother, but that wasn’t the last of him, oh no! Since then she’d seen him frequently and was becoming fond of the lad. It was rarely possible for her to coordinate her off duty hours with Jer or Alby or Patric, or even Chris, so he was actually a welcome companion. He’d shown her all around Milagres and introduced her to everyone he knew. Friends, family, the butcher, the baker and the candlestick maker.

 

And his teacher.

 

Anny glanced over to where that teacher, Ines Da Silva, was standing. She was a short, dark-haired woman, perhaps ten years older than Anny. But she was friendly and had been very interested in meeting Anny and somehow she’d talked her into speaking before her class. Anny had been reluctant at first, but eventually agreed. But then when she’d asked Vorstang for permission, the request had been kicked upstairs where someone had remembered her old job at Fort Vorolson and before you could say _photo op_ the request had not only been approved, it had been turned into an order. There was, in fact, a photographer from BEF HQ there to record the whole thing and she’d been told that the vid might well be seen all over Novo Paveo if it went well.

 

Da Silva saw Anny looking her way and made a little _go on_ motion with her head. Anny took a breath, looked at her notes, and began. “Good morning everyone,” she said in Portuguese.

 

“Good morning Lieutenant Payne!” shouted the class back at her in English.

 

Anny started her presentation. She’d worked on it for nearly a week and then had it translated and then she’d practiced her delivery with help from both Paulo and Da Silva. She knew her accent was still pretty thick, but her pronunciation wasn’t too bad. The minimal number of giggles from the kids indicated she wasn’t making too many goofs. She had a small, portable loudspeaker and microphone. The classroom appeared to have had built-in audio-visual equipment at some point, but it was gone now, leaving some ugly holes in the walls. Looted perhaps?

 

The content of her talk was straightforward enough: why we’re here, why we are your friends and why you should be happy to cooperate with us. “And so,” she said as she neared the end, “we Barrayarans have come to help you. The EnBees may have pretended to be your friends, but they are not. They want to turn Novo Paveo into an army base and all of you into soldiers so that you can attack your neighbors. This is not a good thing. Not a fair thing. You all deserve to have a future that you choose, not one that the lords on Nuevo Brasila choose for you. Help us to drive out the EnBees forever and your future will belong to you.”

 

There was some polite applause when she finished, but she could tell that many of the children were struggling to understand all that she’d said. Then came the question and answer session. Her grasp of the language was still too thin to handle that unaided, so she switched on her translator. Most of the questions were simple enough: stuff about her weapons and equipment and what Barrayar was like. She managed to field them without too much trouble. But then a girl stood up and she looked very nervous, with her hands clasped tightly in front of her.

 

“P-please, Lieutenant Payne,” she stuttered. “I have heard your words, but I am very confused. The things you say, that you Barrayarans are our friends and that the EnBees are not our friends. They seem to be the truth. The Barrayarans have given us help and the EnBees have done things that have frightened us a lot. But… but…” Here she faltered and she glanced at her teacher. Da Silva tensed. “Ms Da Silva has said things… things that are just the opposite of what you say! That the EnBees are our friends and that the Barrayarans and all the other Galactics are not! Please, I do not understand!” The girl stood there looking fearfully between Anny and her teacher.

 

Anny looked helplessly at Da Silva. _What the hell do I say now?_ Da Silva’s expression had gone utterly blank and she seemed frozen like a statue. A long, uncomfortable silence followed during which Anny heard the HQ vid guy mutter something about _editing_. Finally Da Silva stirred and took a step toward her class, her fists clenched. “Children, I… I have done you a great wrong,” she said. “The things that Lieutenant Payne has told you today are the truth. The things that I told you before were lies. Lies. And I beg your forgiveness for having told them to you. When the EnBees came they told me, told all the teachers, what they wanted us to tell you about the war, about what was happening on our world. They said that if we did not do as they wanted they would… hurt people. So we lied to you. We told you the things that the EnBees wanted you to hear. But they were not the truth. What you heard today is the truth. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you the truth before.” She finished and turned away, fists still clenched.

 

The girl who had asked the question fell back into her seat, hands over her mouth. The other kids seemed similarly gobsmacked. Anny hesitated a moment and then cleared her throat.

 

“I think that your teacher has been very brave. Brave to protect all of you from the EnBees and brave to tell you the truth about it now. I’m a soldier, but I don’t think I could ever be that brave. Ms Da Silva has been very brave, don’t you think?”

 

The children pondered this for a moment and then suddenly Paulo thrust up his fist and cried: “Viva Ms Da Silva!”

 

Within seconds all the other children were shouting, too. “Viva Ms Da Silva!”

 

It took a good five minutes to restore order. But eventually they were quiet again and Da Silva dismissed them. The HQ guy departed, leaving Anny alone with the teacher. Da Silva came over to her, eyes glistening and said: “Thank you, Lieutenant, for everything.”

 

“That must have been very hard for you. I’m sorry it happened.”

 

“I’m not,” said Da Silva, after a moment. Her English was very good. “Sooner or later, someone was going to ask the question that little Rosa did and I’m glad to not have to worry about it anymore. I’d been dreading the moment, but now that it’s happened, it turned out far better than I’d dared to hope.” She gestured to the chairs and they sat down. “Before this whole nightmare began, we teachers had a very strict curriculum, of course. Sent from Nuevo Brasilia, it hammered the same lesson into the children from the first day: love the Home World, obey the grandees, labor for the greater good—and the greater good was always Nuevo Brasila. I taught it and rarely questioned it. If I’d been the type to question it, I wouldn’t have been allowed to become a teacher.

 

“But then the revolution started and the message it carried: Novo Paveo for the Novo Paveans was very powerful. The younger children didn’t understand, but their older siblings drank it in like water to a man in the desert. But it put us teachers in a terrible position. What should we teach? What should we tell the children? Luckily the rebels didn’t pay much attention to Tamborete. They only occupied the place briefly before they were driven out again. But even in that short time they did damage,” she paused and gestured to the holes in the wall. “And they tried to introduce a new school curriculum. Some of the older teachers, ones who had been born on Nuevo Brasilia, protested and they… disappeared. I honestly don’t know what I would have done.”

 

“You could have gone into hiding,” said Anny.

 

“Yes. Some did. But who would have looked out for the children if we’d all done that? But I wasn’t forced to choose—that time. The loyalists returned, but they had changed, too. And the secret police came with them. The message we had to pass on now was much harsher, much stricter, and the punishments for disobedience much worse. I had no choice but to go along. I was already under suspicion simply because the rebels hadn’t killed me. So I cooperated.”

 

“And now we’re here.”

 

“Yes,” said Da Silva gravely. “And now you are here.”

 

“And we are insisting that you cooperate.”

 

“Yes, and again I have no choice.”

 

“We wouldn’t…!” began Anny, but then she stopped herself. _We wouldn’t what? Kill her? Throw her in prison? Are you sure?_ She honestly didn’t know. She hoped that ImpSec wouldn’t just kill Da Silva, but they would surely never tolerate any teacher who continued to support the old regime. “We’ve put you in a very difficult position. I’m sorry.”

 

“You are doing what you have to do just as I am. I feel confident that I can trust you, as a person, Lieutenant Payne, but I know you will follow orders. And I know that I’ve put my life into your hands today. If you leave and the EnBees return I will have to flee—or die.”

 

“I’ll try not to betray your trust,” said Anny. “But I also know not to make any promises I can’t keep.”

 

“Fair enough,” said Da Silva.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Garrison duty was boring and Alby Vorsworth was bored. He was still working for Captain Hopkins in Intelligence, but as far as anyone could tell, there just wasn’t much happening on the island of Tamborete. The regiment had come to establish order and after two months things were just so darn… _orderly._

 

Not that Alby was itching for action the way Rad Benin was, but it would be nice if there was something to keep his interest. Each day was pretty much like the day before. He would spend a couple of hours in the morning sifting through the reports coming up from the companies and another hour or so sifting through the reports coming down from brigade to see if anything was important enough to pass on to Hopkins or the Colonel. There rarely was. The company reports were mostly negative with the occasional lost child or strayed livestock to liven things up. The brigade reports were similarly negative, mostly from the engineers who were doing deep seismic sensor probes in hopes of finding underground EnBee bases. Everyone was convinced that they were down there somewhere, carefully screened from normal sensors. The fact that the Cetagandans had found just such a base on one of the other islands, using those very methods, had all the Barrayaran engineers bound and determined not to be shown up. But trying to probe the whole bloody planet a hectare at a time was the work of a lifetime or two. Alby was glad he hadn’t gone into engineering.

 

This day’s reports were just like all the others and Alby was finished well before lunch. Hopkins would probably find some make-work for him in the afternoon, but for right now he had some time free. He decided he really ought to write a letter to each of his girlfriends. It was odd and rather exhilarating to have two, when until fairly recently he’d never had even one. Abigail, back at the Academy on Barrayar, had been the first. She was Vor, not ‘Old Vor’ the way he was, but still of his class and a ‘proper match’. They had become friends while Alby was in his third year at the Academy and he had hoped that it might become more than friendship. But the regulations didn’t permit a real romance and while regulations had never stopped Alby from doing anything he really wanted to do, Abbie was far more straight-laced and she (reinforced by stern warnings from Anny and Jer) had made it quite clear that if Alby was truly interested in her then he could damn well wait until they both graduated (just the way Anny and Jer had—blast them). So he’d relented, but the long separation, and with Abbie now in her senior year and so busy, the relationship (whatever it was) had cooled significantly. He still liked her, but he wasn’t sure what he would want to do once they were free to do what they wanted to do.

 

His relationship with Izabella was another matter! Izabella Cresswell-Jones was a commander in one of the Earth naval contingents. She was almost twice his age, although due to galactic medical techniques she looked far younger than a Barrayaran woman that old would look. She was far more experienced than Alby and with no regulations standing in the way she’d been perfectly willing to have a fling with him. Neither had the slightest expectation that it was a relationship that would endure beyond their deployment to Novo Paveo. But they had fun together and Alby liked her a lot. The actual time they could spend together was limited, but they’d made the most of what they had.

 

Izabella knew about Abbie, but the reverse wasn’t true. At least he hoped it wasn’t! He felt a bit guilty about it at times, but it wasn’t as though he and Abbie were engaged or anything of the sort. They’d made no promises and what he did a zillion light years across the Nexus was none of her business, right? Right?

 

For his letter to Abbie, he pulled up a special bit of word-processing software he’d tinkered together. All mail home was censored by computers that automatically deleted anything that the programming decided was militarily sensitive. From a few of the samples Alby had seen, that included just about everything and reduced a typical letter to: ‘Hi Ma! I ain’t been shot yet. Luv Johhny.’ But Alby would have none of that! Only a few hours’ work had allowed him to produce letters that would bypass the censoring software and get sent unaltered. He wrote a pretty complete account of the assault on Tamborete and the ensuing occupation. “I didn’t see any real action, being with regimental HQ, but Jer and Patric both did and Anny nearly got herself killed again. I don’t know what I’m going to do with that girl.” He paused and shivered despite the warmth in the office module. Jer had described to him the situation where he’d found Anny and it made Alby cringe. Anny got so damn crazy in combat! He thought back to the fight on Dounby. Anny had always been so driven, but he’d never see her like that before. And apparently it wasn’t a one-time occurrence. If she kept that up… The thought of her being killed was… horrible. It was so odd, he liked Abbie and he lusted after Izabella, but the one person in the universe that he could truly say that he loved was Anny. In a brotherly-sisterly sort of way, of course. Well, sort of…

 

“Things have quieted down a lot now,” he continued. “And while I don’t mind the calm, I have to wonder if this is doing any good towards ending this mess and getting us all home. I’ve been analyzing all the intel coming through and it isn’t yielding anything useful. Still, I have this nagging feeling that we are all overlooking something. Something right under our noses.”

 

He stopped and frowned. _Right under our noses…_ The thought that had been swirling around in the back of his head for days had crystallized on his comconsole screen. He put the letter to Abbie aside and called up his intel files and paged through them. Patterns, his specialty was detecting patterns. Were there any patterns here he hadn’t caught? He looked over the reports for a half-hour and then snarled in frustration.

 

“Too many gaps! If they would just send us the _whole_ bloody picture!”

 

But of course they hadn’t. _They_ being the BEF Intelligence section. Information, unlike water, flowed uphill. It went up the chain of command to the top, but little of it ever flowed back down again. The ‘experts’ at HQ decided what the lower echelons needed to know and a mere regimental headquarters S2 section didn’t rate much of anything.

 

“What was that, Alby?” He twitched in surprise. He hadn’t realized that he’d spoken his frustrations that loudly. Captain Hopkins had heard him. Well, since he had… he got up and walked down to the other end of the module. Hopkins looked up as he approached.

 

“Captain? Do you think there’s any chance that HQ would give us access to more information? I’m trying to make sense of all this but we don’t even have half the picture! Not even a tenth!”

 

Hopkins looked at him shrewdly. “Getting bored again, Alby? Well, I can probably find something that will keep you busy…”

 

“Please, sir, I’m serious. I’ve got a gut feeling that we’re overlooking something. Something important. I might be able to find it if I only had the data to work with.”

 

“Alby, they’ve got some of the best intel people in the Empire looking at all of that already…”

 

“And they aren’t finding anything! Maybe… maybe a new set of eyes would help. You know… you know how good I am, sir.”

 

Hopkins sighed. “Yeah, yeah I do. You really ought to be at HQ…”

 

“I don’t want a transfer, sir!” said Alby in alarm. Leave the Regiment? Leave his friends?

 

“And I don’t want to lose you,” continued Hopkins. “But… well, I’ll make some inquiries. Maybe I can get some more grist for your mill.”

 

“I’d appreciate that, sir.”

 

“Don’t get your hopes up. And even if I succeed, it might take a while; I have to go through channels, y’know.”

 

That was clearly the best he was going to get from Hopkins, so he went back to his cubicle. He finished up the letter to Abbie and wrote a short note to Izabella about their next rendezvous. But the earlier frustration was building in him again.

 

_Channels! Our people are in danger and we have to go through channels!_

 

He turned back to his comconsole and started typing.

 

“Hopkins might have to, but I don’t!”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“That bastard’s already got the sweetest piece of tail in the regiment and now he’s building his own little harem right here!”

 

Jer paused in mid stride, mess tray in his hands. He didn’t have to look to see who had spoken: Vorkerkas.

 

“Well to be fair, Adrien” said another voice, “he’s got the _only_ piece of tail in the regiment, so it’s the sweetest by default.”

 

“Although it is pretty sweet in its own right,” said a third, getting a laugh.

 

“How would you know, Vorledge? Naddel sharing now?”

 

“Sadly no. But I saw her suiting up back at Vorolson a few times. Skin-tight undersuits don’t leave much to the imagination.” More laughs.

 

“But what are you bitching about, Adrien? You’ve got a batch of the local frills in your training company, too, don’t you?”

 

“Ah, they don’t like him, Hans! Works ‘em too hard. No strength for any fun later on!”

 

“Work?” growled Vorkerkas. “Not likely! Laziest bunch of sods I’ve ever seen. How they expect us to make them into soldiers, I don’t know.”

 

“Naddel seems to get work out of them,” said a new voice, Jer thought it was Lieutenant Haskel of F Company. “His company has got the best performance rating of any of them. And I don’t think it’s because he’s sleeping with the women.” This brought a few groans and snide remarks, but seemed to deflate the others.

 

Jer decided he’d been standing there out of sight long enough and he went on to find a table in the mess module to eat his lunch without looking toward Vorkerkas or the others. Inwardly he was fuming, but he let none of it show. Damn. It had been well over a year and some of the other officers still resented that he and Anny were lovers. Well, a few resented the fact that he was a Komarran too. They were very broad-minded in their prejudices, he’d give them that.

 

When he’d first decided to join the military, he knew he’d be facing discrimination from those who didn’t like Komarrans. But at the Academy, much to his surprise, he’d managed to make some friends. Alby, Patric… Anny. They’d given him hope that he could do the same elsewhere. And he had made some friends in the 61st, like Sven Estaban, but so far he hadn’t had much success in H Company. Vorkerkas disliked him because of his hatred for Anny and he’d managed to prevent any of the company officers from becoming friends with Jer. Captain Andronov was fair, but distant—as he should be with subordinates. Sergeant Shusterman was fair, but distant—as he should be with his superior. It wasn’t _bad_ , but it could have been so much better. He hadn’t seen any of his friends in weeks and he was feeling lonely.

 

He finished up his lunch, checked the time, and headed outside. More training with his militia company, and today ought to be interesting. He saw them forming up at the edge of the drill field after their own lunch break. They’d finally been issued uniforms last week and they actually looked like soldiers now, although the simple green-brown fatigues lacked pretty much everything in the way of military flair. But the troops had been thrilled and that was all that really mattered.

 

His company had grown considerably as new recruits were added. While it was good to have the extra people, it had slowed down the training as the newbies had to be allowed to catch up with the rest. But the others had helped them along and observing just who was doing the best job at helping had shown him who was fit to be appointed as NCOs. He had a full complement of sergeants and corporals now and they were all shaping up pretty well. He grinned as First Sergeant Flora Levine spotted him and began shouting at everyone to get in line and shut up. “Companhia! Atencao!” she commanded as he arrived in front of them. Everyone snapped to and Levine saluted him and reported that all were present or accounted for.

 

Jer looked them over, but a lot of his attention was on Levine. Making her the first sergeant had been a risk. She had continued to flirt with him for a few weeks after the first incident until he’d shown her a holo of Anny and told her as plainly as the translator software would allow that he was a one-woman sort of guy. To his surprise, she hadn’t gotten angry or sulky but instead had remained friendly and had thrown herself into the training and learning her duties and had become his best recruit. He still wasn’t entirely sure what her motivation was, but she had earned her position. The risk was that her earlier flirtations had been pretty obvious and it was inevitable that some people—like Vorkerkas apparently—thought they had been successful and the first sergeant’s position had been his reward to her for duty in bed rather than on the drill field. Still, the other people in the company seemed to respect her authority and that was what mattered.

 

He walked up and down the ranks, making small corrections of the way some were wearing their gear and giving small compliments where warranted. He was just killing time, but eventually several trucks pulled up on the edge of the drill field. He called everyone to attention.

 

“Well,” he said through the translator, “the day you’ve been waiting for has arrived. Today you will be issued your weapons.”

 

The expected cheer came, although it was delayed a few seconds by the translator. Levine moved to call for silence, but he put out his hand and stopped her. Let them cheer a bit. When they finally settled down he marched them over to one of the trucks where some of the ordnance people from regiment had set up a distribution point. Then came the rather tedious process of handing out the weapons and the accompanying combat helmets. Each soldier was issued a helmet and a rifle. The helmets had an elaborate array of sensors and communications gear and needed to be fitted and ‘calibrated’ to exactly match the soldier wearing it. Or at least that is what they told the soldiers. In actual fact, the helmets were taking DNA codes and retinal scans of their owners. The rifles were keyed to the helmets and the helmets were keyed to the soldiers.

 

One major worry about the militias had been that the equipment issued to them might end up getting ‘lost’. Truly lost, stolen, sold, or most worrisome, given to people who might be in league with the EnBees. Even though each soldier had professed loyalty under fast-penta those statements could not account for future actions or future changes of heart. So, this equipment was designed so that the helmets would only work for the people they were assigned to and the rifles would only work in concert with those helmets. Both were fitted with tracking homers, too. It wasn’t a foolproof system, but it was the best that could be concocted. In a combat situation a unit commander could switch off some of the safeguards, allowing anyone on the right side to use anyone else’s gear, but for normal times it would (hopefully) make the stuff useless to anyone but the rightful owners.

 

It took half the afternoon to get everyone in his company equipped. Those that got theirs first were almost giddy with excitement and Jer had to order them not to fool around with their new toys until everyone had theirs and they could receive instruction. Eventually, it was all done and Jer led the company to a space under some trees.

 

“The Webley M-28 coilgun is a proven design, originally developed on Earth, but now in common use throughout the nexus,” said Jer, holding up one of the weapons. “It fires a 2-millimeter dart with a muzzle velocity of up to three thousand meters per second. It is capable of punching through both light body armor and lightly armored vehicles at a considerable range. The sighting system is tied into the Heads-Up display in your combat helmets. The standard magazine holds 300 darts plus the disposable power pack that powers the weapon…”

 

“I do not have a magazine,” said one of the troopers waving his hand. Several others said the same thing.

 

“Does it go here? In this slot?”

 

“You will not be issued ammunition today,” said Jer, getting some groans of disappointment. “Today you will be instructed on how to care for your new equipment, how to keep it clean, and how to fix minor problems. Tomorrow you will be shown how to use it. Now, I want you to spread out and form a circle around me. Put your poncho on the ground and sit down…”

 

They spent the rest of the afternoon field-stripping the rifles and helmets. Fortunately, since the rifles had no moving parts whatsoever, maintenance was simply a matter of keeping dirt out of the barrel and the magazine slot. Any problem more serious would require the attention of an ordnance technician. The combat helmet was even simpler since all the electronics were built-in and sealed and never needed to be fooled with. _Using_ all its features would take weeks or months of training, but other than that, its care was a matter of adjusting the chin straps and not letting the helmet get run over by a tank or something.

 

Finally, as the day neared its end, he put them back in ranks and went through the manual of arms for half an hour. Then it was off to the newly constructed armory where they would store their weapons and helmets when they weren’t using them. The troops were chatting excitedly within seconds after being dismissed.

 

The next morning they reviewed what they had learned the day before and then it was off to the firing range. This was a large pasture that had been taken over (there being a lot fewer grazing animals around since the war started). One end was up against a small hill which would act as a back-stop; very necessary since the darts would fly for kilometers with lethal velocity if they missed their intended target. Several NCOs from his own platoon were already there waiting to help with the instructions.

 

After an hour of lectures and demonstrations, the troops were finally issued ammunition and allowed to try out their weapons. They took up positions along the firing line and were soon happily blasting away at the holographic targets at the far end of the range. The weapons made no noise except for the tiny sonic booms created by the projectiles themselves, but even those were no louder than a person snapping his fingers, so it was relatively quiet except for the joyful chatter the troops made. Jer’s NCOs gave up after a while trying to keep them quiet. The Novo Paveans seemed almost incapable of keeping their mouths shut when they were excited.

 

Jer reflected that this was a lot different from his initial marksmanship training at the Academy. There, for tradition’s sake, they still used rifles using chemical propellant firing lead slugs at paper targets. It had been noisy and very inefficient. Here, the troopers had built-in telescopic sights in their helmets and their hits and misses were recorded automatically. Jer could see how well each person was doing with a glance at his compad. For the most part they were doing very well—not that it was easy to miss with all the aids they had. But you still had to hold the weapon reasonably steady and a few troopers were having some trouble with that. Later, they would train against moving targets and with some of the more advanced targeting aids, but for right now it was familiarization and confidence building.

 

And safety. An angry shout from one of the instructors drew Jer’s attention to the right end of the firing line. He strolled down that way. One of the NCOs, Corporal Haynes, was peeling a stripe off one of the troopers and even though the boy couldn’t have understood one word in five, he was slowly melting into the ground. “What’s the problem, Corporal?” asked Jer.

 

“Well, sir, this silly sod got so excited at hitting the bullseye, it seems, that he jumps up and nearly ran out into the line of fire to point it out. Then when he realizes what he’s doin’ he comes running back waving his gun around and pointin’ it at everyone in sight. If it weren’t for the safety features he mighta’ murdered half the platoon—including me!”

 

“Ah,” said Jer, nodding. The weapons were set on maximum safety and would only fire in the general direction of the targets right now. In combat they had a sophisticated IFF—Identification Friend/Foe—system to prevent friendly fire casualties. The things were as nearly foolproof as possible, but basic safety procedures—like not pointing a weapon at anyone you didn’t intend to kill—had to be hammered into their heads until it was second nature. “Very well, carry on.” As he turned away he caught the look of dismay on the trooper’s face. Had he been expecting Jer to save him from the tongue-lashing? Well, he was going to be disappointed. This was too important for half-measures. Word of his miscue and the results would quickly spread through the whole company.

 

The rest of the morning went by without incident and by the time they were ready for the lunch break everyone seemed to be getting comfortable with their weapons. Jer had the company fall in and then they stacked arms and broke ranks and found spots to eat the field rations they’d brought with them. They were standard Barrayaran issue rations, but they were quite tasty considering what they were. Anny had once told Jer that they were produced by a company owned by Lord Auditor Vorkosigan’s odd brother and that they were made from a bio-engineered food product produced by bio-engineered bugs. She had clearly expected him to go _Ick!_ and she’d been disappointed when he hadn’t. That sort of thing was entirely routine in Komarr’s domes. So far he’d resisted the urge to tell the Novo Paveans not that it would be likely to bother them any more than it did him.

 

While he was eating, First Sergeant Levine came over to him. “Lieutenant? Have you a moment?”

 

“Sure. What’s up?”

 

“Sandro is very upset about what happened this morning. I am worried about him. Is there anything you can say to him?”

 

“He made a very serious mistake…”

 

“He knows that. And he feels very bad about it. Very bad. And some of the others are making fun of him. I am afraid he may quit the militia because of this.”

 

Jer frowned. Yeah, that was true: these were volunteers and they could quit just the same as they had joined. It wasn’t like the regulars where you had to take what was dished out whether you liked it or not. Here you couldn’t push them too hard. But what to do? His mistake had been serious enough that it couldn’t just be discounted or laughed away. But still… He took out his compad and looked over Sandro’s record. It was good, but not spectacular, nothing to earn him any sort of commendation. _He screwed up because he got excited about hitting the bullseye._ How had he done overall in the firing drill? The computer quickly told him and Jer smiled. _Not bad, not bad at all._ The kid was in the top five and Jer could see that he would have been the top one or two except that he’d clearly been so rattled after his dressing down that he’d done poorly for quite a while before settling down again. _Hmmm…_

 

He got up. “Where is he now?” Levine pointed and they walked over that way. Sandro was sitting by himself and looking very glum. But he sprang to his feet and stood at attention when he saw Jer approaching. “At ease, private,” said Jer. They stared at each other for a few moments. Jer made sure his translator was working and then said: “You made a serious mistake this morning, you realize that, don’t you?”

 

“Yes, Lieutenant.” The translator couldn’t convey misery, but the boy’s face was filled with it.

 

“Everyone makes mistakes. But when a soldier makes a mistake it could cost lives. A soldier must work harder than anyone else to avoid making mistakes. Do you want to be a soldier?” There was a pause while that was translated, but then Sandro nodded and said _yes._ Some of the other members of the company were gathering. Good.

 

“Will you make the mistake you made today again, private?”

 

“No, Lieutenant!”

 

Jer looked at the other watching troopers. “It is a mistake that could have happened to any of you. We have a saying on K… on Barrayar: ‘The burned hand teaches best.’ The private got burned today. Will you get burned again?” Jer wasn’t sure how well that would translate, but it seemed to get through.

 

“No, Lieutenant!”

 

“I didn’t think so. And you did very well with the shooting today. You are a very good marksman. Have you handled many guns before this?”

 

“No, Lieutenant, never. It just… it just seems easy to me.”

 

“Natural talent. You are a natural marksman and your burned hand has taught you about the importance of safety. I have a job for you, private.”

 

“Sir?”

 

“Yes. There is a section in the regulation about weapons safety. I know you have been required to read all the regulations, but there is so much to remember. I want you to read the safety regulations until you know them by heart. I am going to make you the company weapons safety inspector. You will help all of your comrades to stay safe. Can you do that for me, private?”

 

“Sir? Yes sir, I will try!”

 

“Good. I know you won’t let me or your comrades down. Now, finish your meal, we fall in again in five minutes.”

 

“Thank you, sir!” The boy’s face was beaming.

 

Jer walked away. Levine was at his side.

 

“Thank you, sir! Sandro will not quit now!”

 

“No, I hope not. But keep an eye on him. He might take his new responsibility too seriously. He is still just a private. Don’t let him think he can order people around.”

 

“No sir, I won’t let him do that. You can count on me.”

 

“I know that. In fact, I think I can count on every one of you.” He looked at Levine closely. “Flora, you have done very well in the first sergeant’s position…”  


“Thank you, sir!” the girl’s face lit up. He wasn’t sure if it was because of the compliment or because he’d used her first name.

 

“You’ve handled the responsibility and I’ve been impressed with your dedication. But you know that I won’t be around to command the company forever.”

 

Her face fell a little. “You… you have your own platoon in your regiment…”

 

“Yes I do and eventually the regiment will be moving on.”

 

“Who will command our company then?” asked the woman.

 

“I don’t know,” he replied honestly. He truly hoped that political pressure wouldn’t allow hacks from the revolutionary government to take control of the militia, but it might happen. “I don’t know,” he said again. “But until someone tells me, I’m going to act as though a new commander will be promoted from within the company.” He continued to stare at her and her eyes grew wide and she gasped.

 

“Lieutenant! I could never…!”

 

“I think you could if you tried. I’m going to start giving you some special training and give you more responsibility with the company. We’ll see how well you do.”

 

Levine was blushing scarlet, but she eventually nodded. “I will do my best.”

 

“I know you will.”

 

 

 

 

 

**Chapter 22**

 

The sun was hot and the air humid and sweat trickled down Anny’s back, but she didn’t care. Jer’s hand was in hers and they walked very close together and didn’t give a damn who might see them. And there were plenty who did see them. Crowds of people were all around them, talking, laughing, eating and drinking.

 

The Sixty-First’s Regimental Picnic was an annual affair dating back decades, but this was the first time it had ever been held off Barrayar. Anny didn’t know who had decided to continue the tradition on Novo Paveo, but she was very glad they had. She hadn’t seen Jer in over a month and she had missed him terribly.

 

The picnic was being held on an abandoned estate just north of Milagres. Tents and awnings had been erected, sports and game fields laid out, and food brought in. Lots of food. Lots and lots. Most of it was being provided by the regular mess personnel, but some delicacies had been donated by the regimental officers’ mess and some well-vetted local vendors had been invited to come, and there was other stuff that Anny had no idea of the origin. But it was all marvelous.

 

“Missed you,” she said for about the twentieth time.

 

“Missed you, too.” He leaned closer and kissed her.

 

“Watch out, Payne!” said a familiar voice. She stiffened and so did Jer. Adrien Vorkerkas and several of his pals were walking by. “Lover Boy might not have any strength for you these days.”

 

“Yeah, you’ve got competition!” said one of the others.

 

Jer gave a low snarl and started to move, but she held him back. “Bring them on,” she said smiling sweetly. “I can hold my own.” She pulled Jer a little closer. “But I guess holding your own is about all _you’ve_ got these days, eh, Adrien?” Jer snorted and even Vorkerkas’ companions laughed. Vorkerkas wasn’t amused, but a group of senior officers came by from the other direction just then and he cut off any retort and moved off.

 

“Doesn’t he ever get tired?” said Anny, shaking her head.

 

“Little things for little minds.”

 

“I assume he was referring to the women in your militia company? Actually he _better_ have been referring to the women in you militia company, Mister Naddel!” she elbowed him in the ribs.

 

“Yes, that’s all Lieutenant Payne. You have nothing to worry about, Love.” Jer had been keeping her informed about his work with the local militia and the fact that there were a lot of women in his company.

 

“Even that Levine, woman? How’s she working out?”

 

“She’s got the makings of a good soldier, I think. In some ways she reminds me a bit of you…” Anny stiffened and Jer noticed. “Her drive, I mean. She doesn’t give up…”

 

“I thought you said that she _had_ given up.”

 

“Anny! I meant on her soldiering and you know it!”

 

Anny laughed. “Yes, I’m just giving you a hard time—like old Adrien.”

 

“Great. I can’t escape it anywhere.”

 

“Nope, there’s no hope for you. But you say Levine is doing well?”

 

“Yes. And I think she’s got officer potential. I’d like for you to have a talk with her sometime. A shame she’s on duty today.”

 

Anny nodded. With nearly the whole regiment at the picnic, the militia companies were handling much of the routine security work. It was their first real mission. Not unsupervised, of course; several platoons of armored-up Sixty-Firsters were on rotating duty throughout the day to keep an eye on things. There had been no trouble on Tamborete in weeks, but no one was going to take chances. A very sophisticated defensive perimeter ringed the picnic site. “Well, maybe I can come up to your camp next week to see her. It’d be a nice excuse to see you again.” She smiled.

 

“Not a bad idea at all,” agreed Jer. “Will you be able to get away, do you think? How busy are they keeping you?”

 

Anny sighed. “Busy enough. I now seem to be the poster-girl for the Benevolent Barrayaran Occupation Forces. The first talk I gave to the school kids went so well—or at least the edited version _looked_ so good—that I’ve been doing two or three a week all over the island. I have to convince the locals that I’m not a savage, blood-thirsty, baby-eating monster.”

 

“Good thing none of them have seen you in combat.”

 

“Hey, I never ate any babies.”

 

“True. So it’s working out?”

 

Anny shrugged. “Who can tell? Everyone smiles and nods their heads when I talk to them, but who know what they’re thinking? For all I know they go home and start building bombs to attack us with. If nothing else, my Portuguese is getting pretty good.”

 

“There have hardly been any serious incidents since we got here and none recently. Maybe this whole plan will really work.”

 

“I sure hope so. Sometimes I get to talk to the locals after my presentations and I can tell they just want this to end. They’ve really suffered a lot and most just want peace—no matter who’s running things.” She fell silent and they just strolled for a while, watching the various activities all around them. Quite a few locals had been invited and they stood out in their colorful clothing.

 

“They’re good people,” said Jer after a while.

 

“Yes,” agreed Anny immediately. “I’ve become quite fond of Paulo and his teacher, Ines Da Silva, is very nice, too. I invited them to come, today, I hope they can make it. Oh look, there’s Patric and Lyra.”

 

“They seem to have patched things up,” said Jer.

 

“For the moment. I honestly don’t know what’s going on with those two.” Their friend from the Academy had been having an on-again, off again love affair with Med-tech Lyra Gunderson. During the one shore leave on the way to Novo Paveo it had definitely been _on_ , but then Lyra, perhaps worried about regulations, had cut things off cold for the rest of the journey—much to Patric’s dismay. But since arriving here it appeared to be on again. In fact, when it came to the women in the hospital companies there were quite a few in the _on_ mode. Chris Tropio had taken up with Sven Estaban and Anny knew of a half-dozen others who seemed to be in serious relationships. It was still all against regulation, but no one appeared to care about that anymore. It was amazing how attitudes changed once the energy bolts began to fly. Anny suddenly laughed. “All those years at the Academy and I didn’t dare tell you how I felt about you, couldn’t even appear to be attracted, and now here I am the only Barrayaran woman on the planet who can have a lover and _not_ worry about the regulations!”

 

Jer laughed, too. “Still blazing the trail, are you?” He pulled her close and squeezed. “We gonna be able to blaze any trails tonight, do you think?”

 

“Sure hope so,” she replied with feeling. “In fact, I’ve been trying to find some spot where we can sneak off to for a little shenanigans right now.”

 

“Might be a little difficult with this mob! But I’m game. Let’s try off over that way, the crowd seems thinner.”

 

Their path took them past the sports fields where spirited games of thugby, crossball and soccer were being played. Groups of the locals were looking on with interest and a few had even joined in the soccer game. One other sport was being played which must have been a local invention. It reminded Anny of polo, but without the horses. Mobs of people armed with sticks chased a small ball around the field to no purpose that she could see. But they did seem to be having fun and she and Jer stopped to watch for a bit.

 

While they were watching, Colonel Fetherbay and a few of his staff came by. He stopped when he reached her. “Ah, Lieutenant Payne,” he said, “I was hoping I’d bump into you.”

 

“Sir?”

 

“Yes, we’re finally getting caught up with the paperwork at HQ and I wanted to tell you that your AAR of the assault on Milagres made interesting reading. I think those news stories you’ve been sending home have sharpened your writing skills.”

 

“Oh, uh, thank you, sir.” Anny was surprised and also felt a little guilty that she was way behind on the stories she’d promised to send to Corporal Kane for the newspaper back at Fort Vorolson.

 

“I also wanted to let you know that I’ve approved all the recommendations you’ve made for commendations for the men in your company and forwarded them to brigade HQ. From what I’ve heard, they will all probably be approved. They’re getting very open-handed with medals these days.”

 

“That’s wonderful, sir. They deserve it and I’m glad they’re going to be recognized.” She’d recommended no less than twelve men of C Company for decorations—over and above the fifty-six wound medals that would go out automatically. Sadly, three of the medals would have to be awarded posthumously…

 

“However,” he continued, “there is one other recommendation that I’ve sent along that, quite naturally, you couldn’t know about.”

 

“Sir?”

 

“The one for yourself, Lieutenant.”

 

‘What?”

 

“I’ve recommended you for a Distinguished Service Star. You’ve already got one, so now you’ll have a matching set.” Fetherbay smiled.

 

“Sir, I didn’t really…” began Anny in protest.

 

“Yes you did, Lieutenant. Really. I’m not talking about what you did with that bunker, Anny. And by the way: try to not do that again, okay? “

 

“Captain Vorstang told me the same thing, sir.”

 

“As well he should have. A platoon commander, _maybe_. But you were commanding a company and that’s why you shouldn’t have done that and it’s also why you’ll be getting the medal.” Fetherbay paused and looked at her intently. “That was a hell of a job you did. One of the very hardest things any officer can face is having to take over when your superior goes down. We try to train for it, prepare for it, but no amount of preparation can match the reality of it. Many an officer—many a _good_ officer—has fallen apart, been crushed by the sudden load. But you didn’t. You took command and did what had to be done and did it well. That deserves recognition and you’ll get it. Got it?”

 

“Uh, yes sir, got it.”

 

“Good. By the way, how is Ensign Vorstuban working out?”

 

“Fine, sir. He did really well with 3rd platoon, as I mentioned in my report. He has a good grasp of the tactics and is a good leader. His skill level in the battle armor still needs some work, but he’s coming along.”

 

The Colonel nodded. “That’s good to hear. Not all of the… additions to the expedition are working out so well from what I’ve heard. Perhaps Vorstuban will make an assault trooper. Well, enjoy the picnic, you, too, Nadell.” Fetherbay moved on and Anny let out her breath.

 

“Well, congratulations, Anny!” said Jer. He was grinning ear to ear.

 

“You deserve a medal more than I do.”

 

“Well maybe I’ll get one. Fetherbay didn’t say anything about H Company. Maybe Andronov was late getting his recommendations in.”

 

“Maybe. But here, this will make up for it until he does.” She leaned forward and kissed him.

 

It lasted quite a while but when they finally pulled apart Jer said. “To hell with the medal, this is a better reward!”

“Glad you think so. But let’s keep looking for a private spot.”

 

“Sounds good.” They moved on, away from the open fields and into a wooded grove. They couldn’t go _too_ far or they’d run into the security perimeter. But there were other people in the woods, some who appeared to have the same idea they did. Men with med techs, men with local women, she half expected to bump into Alby and Izabella. Maybe they would just have to wait until later and go back to their quarters…

 

“How about over there,’ said Jer pointing to a large bushy tree whose branches reached down to the ground. Anny looked the spot over with a tactical eye and nodded. Good concealment. They slipped under the branches and sat down next to the trunk and started some serious necking.

 

They hadn’t gotten too far along when Anny’s wristcom pinged. She ignored it the first time, but when it sounded again, she sighed and disentangled herself from Jer sufficiently to look at it. Sergeant Kay. She signed again. “Yes, Sergeant? What is it?”

 

“Sorry to bother you, sir. Do you have a moment?”

 

“”Is it important?”

 

“Well, it’s a kind of a situation, sir. I don’t think I can deal with it.”

 

“What kind of a situation, Sergeant?”

 

“Easier to explain in person, sir.”

 

Anny looked at Jer, who just smiled and shrugged.

 

“Okay, I’ll meet you by the thugby field in five minutes.”

 

“Thanks, sir! See you there!” He clicked off.

 

“This had better be good,” grumped Anny refastening her tunic.

 

A short while later they were at the agreed meeting area. Anny spotted Sergeant Kay threading his way through the crowd. He had Private Wingate, one of the men from her platoon, with him and Wingate was towing a local woman behind him.

 

“Oh, now _this_ looks interesting!” said Jer.

 

“He can’t have gotten her pregnant,” said Anny, frowning. “All the women here have the contraceptive implants.”

 

The trio arrived and stopped in front of Anny. Kay saluted. “Lieutenant? Wingate, here, asked to see you.”

 

Anny turned her attention to Wingate. “Yes, Private?”

 

The man was blushing but seemed excited. He pulled the woman forward a little. “Sir? This is Antonia. And… uh… well, we want to get married, sir!”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

“We have a game just like that. We call it ‘rugby’.”

 

Alby glanced at the thugby players and then back at Izabella. “Really? That’s probably where it comes from, then. Earth, I mean. Not that any Barrayaran would admit it, of course.”

 

“Why not? Almost every galactic cultural trait can trace its origins back to Earth in some fashion.”

 

“Ha!” snorted Alby. “You’re probably right, of course, but you’ll never convince most Barrayarans of that! If you believe our legends, the Firsters lost every last thing they brought from Earth—apparently their memories, too—and had to rebuild Barrayaran society from the ground up, starting with inventing dirt.”

 

Izabella laughed, but then stopped. “I don’t suppose I should laugh. Earth has its own share of cultural snobs, too. They take the opposite tack: every last thing you non-terrestrials have or do was given to you by we benevolent Earthers.”

 

Now Alby laughed. “Yeah, I guess there’s a lot of that going on. Hell, talking about snobs, look at the Cetagandans! Talking with Rad Benin you’d think that humanity was invented by the Cetagandans—and then discarded as defective.”

 

“The truth is somewhere in between, I suppose,” said Izabella. “Some parts borrowed, some parts modified, some parts invented new.”

 

“Probably,” said Alby, “but hey, why am I standing here with a beautiful woman on my arm discussing galactic sociology?”

 

“Why not? What would you rather discuss?”

 

“Oh, I don’t know. You, me… us.”

 

Izabella arched an eyebrow. “Alby, you know very well that the only ‘us’ is the one that exists here and now.”

 

“Sure, sure.”

 

The woman sighed wistfully. “And I’m afraid that this here and now might be the last one for a while. Maybe ever.”

 

Alby stiffened. “Why? What’s going on? Your squadron’s not going back to Earth is it?”

 

“No. not yet, anyway. I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but it’s going to be common knowledge soon enough. The scouts we’ve sent through the Back Door are reporting a build-up of EnBee naval units. A significant build up.”

 

“They’re planning a counterattack?” asked Alby in surprise. The EnBee naval units, completely overmatched by the Alliance armada, had fled through their secondary wormhole exit early in the campaign and had not made any sort of trouble since then. “But even with the Alliance ships that have left, we’ve still got a big superiority, don’t we?” The thought of the Alliance fleet being driven off and the ground forces being stuck down here with a hostile enemy overhead was rather alarming.

 

“Not as big as we’d like anymore, but yeah, enough to handle anything the EnBees would be likely to send way out here. Even so, there are a number of new ships out there, including some capital ships. We don’t know what they’re up to, but the admirals plan to shift nearly all of our heavy units out to the wormhole just in case and my ship will be among them. Depending on what the EnBees do, we might be out there for a while. I don’t think I’ll be getting any shore leave until this is resolved.”

 

“Well, damn.”

 

“We’ve still got today. And tonight. Oh, and before I forget, here’s that stuff you were asking for.” She handed him a small data disk.

 

“Oh great. Thanks! Any trouble getting it?”

 

“Captured TrafCon data going back forty years? Not exactly highly classified. But what on Earth do you want this for?”

 

“Oh, just a little project I’ve been working on. But come on, if we’ve only got here and now, let’s make the most of it!”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Da! Da! Look! I got a letter from Anny!”

 

Lord Auditor Miles Vorkosigan looked up from his comconsole with a smile. His daughter Helen came bounding into his study waving her own small computer pad, a look of delight on her face.

 

“Really?” he asked, even though he’d seen the ImpSec list of incoming messages for his children that morning and knew Anny Payne’s letter was among them. “What does she say?” That he didn’t know. He trusted Anny—and his children—sufficiently that he restrained himself from that sort of prying. Bit by bit he was putting his ImpSec days behind him.

 

“She’s still on that No-vo Pa-ve-o place. And she got another medal! It’s just like one of the other ones she already has, but it’s new.” Helen smirked. “She’s catching up with you, Da.”

 

Miles chuckled. _She’ll have to earn them faster than this—or be a thrice twenty year man—to do that._ But he hoped she would never catch up. Not because of his own vanity, but because of the price she’d have to pay. He’d seen the report about how Anny had won her latest decoration and she’d been lucky not to be coming home in a cryo-pod. The thought of that dynamic, wonderful young woman reduced to a mass of torn flesh made him cringe.

 

“What else does she say?”

 

“Oh lots of stuff! Things about the planet she’s on—when are we going to go see other planets, Da?”

 

“You’ve been on two other planets, Squirt. You haven’t forgotten Komarr and Sergyar already have you?”

 

“I mean planets outside the Empire!”

 

Miles smiled. “Three worlds aren’t enough for you, heart-of-my-heart? Most people never get more than one. But we’ll take a real trip when your siblings are a little older. What else does Anny say? Is her friend Jer all right?”

 

“I guess so. Yes, she says he is, right here,” she pointed to the screen of her ‘pad. “But she’d got a new friend, some boy named Paulo.”

 

“Really?” said Miles suddenly alert. Had Anny broken up with Jer Nadell?

 

“Yeah. Anny says that he’s ten. She met him right after the battle where she got her new medal.”

 

“Oh! I see.”

 

“And she’s going to a wedding! One of the men in her company is getting married!”

 

“Well, how about that? A local woman?”

 

“Guess so. I wonder if Anny and Jer are ever going to get married? She loves him, you know.”

 

“I think I’d heard that somewhere.”

 

“Well it’s true. But soldiers shouldn’t get married until they retire.”

 

“Where did you hear that?”

 

“Not sure… Uncle Ivan, maybe.”

 

“Typical, the hypocrite.”

 

“I thought Uncle Ivan was a dip-lo-mat.”

 

“Same thing.”

 

“Oh. But the wedding should be grand. It’s not for six weeks. Could we go?”

 

“It’s a four month trip to Novo Paveo, Love. Just fast messages like the one from Anny take almost two months. The wedding’s probably over already.”

 

“Pooh! Well, when I get married it will be so grand! Rows and rows of soldiers holding their swords up for us to walk under, just like in the vids!”

 

“That’s only for military weddings, Honey. You’d have to marry a soldier…”

 

“No, silly! _I’ll_ be the soldier, Da!”

 

“Helen…”

 

“Aral’s going to the Academy, isn’t he?” demanded his daughter.

 

Miles stared at her. Was he? His son was the future heir to the district and it was almost unheard of for a count not to have spent some time in the military. Well, Lord Dono hadn’t, but then almost everything about Dono was unheard of. He’d discussed this with Ekaterin and she was resigned to it. But he’d had letters from his mother reminding him that even though she was a veteran of several wars, herself, she felt that some traditions didn’t need to be carried on. Miles honestly didn’t know how he felt. He was proud of his service, but the price…

 

“Isn’t he?”

 

“Well, maybe…”

 

“Then I will certainly go, too! I bet I win more medals than him!”

 

“We’ll discuss it some other time. That’s years and years in the future. Ah, here’s your mother! I think it’s time for school.”

 

“There you are!” said Ekaterin. “Come on, you scamp! You’ll be late!” Helen protested briefly, but then kissed him and went off. A few minutes later Ekaterin returned. “Did she show you Anny’s letter?”

 

“She told me about it, but I didn’t read it.”

 

“I did. Miles, how much longer are they going to keep her and the others out there? One of these days that luck of hers is going to run out and…”

 

“You’re really fond of her, aren’t you?”

 

“Yes, I am. I know you are, too.”

 

“Yeah.” Miles sighed. “But, in answer to your question, maybe not too much longer. There’s a bill up before the Council that would authorize the dispatch of replacement units that would allow the regiments there to rotate home.”

 

“Oh, thank goodness! But can’t Gregor just order the troops there? He’s the commander-in-chief, after all.”

 

“Yeah, that’s true, but it’s still got to be paid for and the Council holds the purse strings.”

 

“So, do you think it will pass?”

 

“Gregor’s asked me to put all my weight behind it. It’s going to cost like crazy, but I think if we spin it correctly we can push it through. Some of the counts have relations out there they want to get back in one piece, while others have relations who didn’t get to go with the first batch who still want their chance to win medals.”

 

“Medals!” snorted Ekaterin.”People are dying!”

 

Miles just shrugged. “In any case, I think we can get it passed. I’m hoping we can get the vote scheduled before I’m off to Kibou-daini.”

 

“Gregor is still sending you there?” Ekaterin looked annoyed. “And arranging this vote? He’s got other people working for him, Miles!”

 

“We live to serve, Dear. And this thing on Kibou-daini is looking stranger and stranger. Laisa has got some inside information and Gregor thinks it’s a job for an auditor and since it’s off world…”

 

“You get stuck with it.”

 

“Right.”

 

“The next new auditor Gregor names better have some galactic experience!”

 

“I’ve mentioned that to him. And that might be coming very soon, Vorparidjis is fading fast, I’ve been told.”

 

Ekaterin was silent for a moment. “But you say the vote on the replacements could be soon? It would be such a relief. And I’m not just thinking about Anny. I’ve kept in touch with the women’s groups we set up at her regiment’s base and this has been very rough on them, too. They’ll be so happy to hear their men are coming home.”

 

“Well, even if the vote were to pass tomorrow, it will still be a while. Allowing for the usual delays… six or seven months before the new forces could even get there and another four months for them to get back. Close to a year before we’d see them again, I’m afraid.”

 

“Six months until she’s out of there... A lot can happen in six months.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

 

 * * *

 

 

 

“A happy day, miss. The Regiment needs more happy days like this.”

 

Anny looked at Jac and smiled. Her dog-robber was in especially good spirits today, it seemed. Lance Corporal ‘Jac’ Jacowitz loved the Regiment more than any man she’d ever met. And when the Regiment was happy, Jac was happy. But sometimes to Anny it seemed like Jac was always a half-step away, an observer rather than a participant. That was why she’d insisted that he come to the wedding today rather than just hear about it later.

 

So here they were, Jac, Jer, herself, and a whole lot of other people, mostly from the Sixty-first, but many locals, too, all in the main square of Milagres, waiting to congratulate the new Private and Mrs. Wingate. The ceremony had ended a half-hour earlier in the large church that fronted the square. But the local customs then called for the wedding party and all the guests to leave the church, and march completely around the square before reentering the church, where the bride and groom would welcome everyone. The line of guests extended well back into the square. She wondered what they did if it rained. But there was no sign of rain today.

 

Anny couldn’t remember ever seeing Jac in his dress greens before and she was impressed by the collection of medals on his chest. He had a lot more than she did, that was for sure, although the highest award was one step down from her MCG.

 

And she had a new medal on her own tunic. Fetherbay’s recommendation had been approved and she now had two Distinguished Service Stars. Somehow Jac had managed to get one for her to wear and he’d even scrounged another tiny star to add to her assault landing badge. Ironically, that was hers for the completely unopposed landing on Novo Paveo many months ago, not for the blood-soaked landing on the beaches of Tamborete. _That_ hadn’t been a landing from space, so it didn’t qualify.

 

“Yes, a happy day. I just hope that the Happy Couple can stay happy,” she said.

 

“Yeah,” agreed Jer from beside her. “Seems like a kind of… risky action to take. I mean they’re from opposite ends of the Nexus and they’ve only known each other, what? A few months?”

 

“Deployment Weddings are a bit iffy, it’s true, sir,” said Jac. “I’ve seen a lot of them over the years, but most seem to work out. Why, I first met Polly when I was garrisoning Port Samsonov during Vordarian’s War. ‘Course we didn’t actually get married then, but not too long afterwards.”

 

“But what happens when we pull out of here—if we ever do? Is the girl going to go with Wingate? He sure can’t stay here!”

 

“One would assume she’d go with him,” said Anny. “One of the things Wingate wanted to be sure of was that she’d be allowed transport as a dependent when we leave. And… considering the situation here, I suppose his wife might be eager to go.”

 

“Yeah, maybe, but she’s gonna be in a hell of a fix if they get back to Barrayar and she can’t stand it or the marriage fails. How’ll she ever get home? The military won’t pay for _that_!”

 

“No, probably not. But from what I heard, the woman is practically an orphan—lost both parents to the war. She was nearly destitute and… Well, Wingate says he met her in the town here. We can hope things work out for them.”

 

“I guess. At least she’s technically a citizen of the Empire now so she’s got some protection.”

 

“Young Wingate did right by her, I think,” said Jac. He chuckled. “At least he doesn’t already have a wife at home.”

 

“What?” asked Jer.

 

Anny laughed, too. “Didn’t you hear about that? Some man over in F Company put in for permission to marry a local girl. They turned him down when the personnel officer discovered that he was already married!”

 

“Oh wow!”

 

“Knew a man once who had three wives on three different worlds,” said Jac. “They didn’t keep such good records back then. Don’t think any of the wives caught on until he died and they all wanted his pension.”

 

They all laughed at that while the line slowly inched forward. Another few minutes and they’d be back inside the church. Anny would be glad to get in the shade. It was turning into a hot day and dress greens were warm.

 

As they neared the door, Anny suddenly saw Ines Da Silva approaching. She’d seen her earlier during the wedding ceremony but hadn’t had the chance to talk to her. Anny started to give a greeting, but then saw the worried expression on Da Silva’s face. “Hi Ines, is everything all right?”

 

“Oh yes,” said the teacher. “But, Lieutenant Payne, could I have a word with you for a moment?”

 

“Sure.” Anny invited her to go ahead.

 

“Uh, could we speak over there?” She pointed to a spot away from the crowd. “Lieutenant Nadell is welcome, too.”

 

Anny glanced at the line behind her.

 

“I’ll save your spot, Miss,” said Jac, smiling.

 

“Okay.” She and Jer followed Da Silva until they had privacy. “What is it?” she asked.

 

The woman seemed nervous. “Uh, yes, I have something very serious to talk to you about, Lieutenant, and I wasn’t sure how I…”

 

Da Silva’s voice was lost in an enormous roar that blotted out all other sound. Something snatched the air out of Anny’s lungs and then the tall stained glass windows of the church exploded outward.

 

Anny was slammed to the ground as smoke engulfed her, blotting out the light. Something heavy fell on her and consciousness fled.

 

 

**Chapter 23**

 

“Anny! Anny!” A faint voice was calling her. It was nearly swallowed up by a painful ringing in her ears. Pain. Not just her ears hurt. Just about everything else did, too. Hands, arms, legs, back…head.

 

“Anny!” The voice sort of sounded like Jer… Where was…? _Jer!_

 

Her eyes popped open and there he was, bending over her. But half his face was covered in blood and his expression was that of a crazy man. She was lying on her back, half propped up by Jer. Smoke was in her eyes and lungs and debris was scattered all around her. Her dress greens were now covered in a tan dust.

 

“Are you all right?” She could tell that Jer was screaming, but his voice seemed far away.

 

“I think so,” she shouted back. She did a quick inventory of arms and legs; nothing appeared to be missing or broken. She took a deep breath and coughed out smoke, but there were no sharp pains so hopefully no ribs were broken. Ines Da Silva was sitting a few meters away, looking dazedly at blood on her arms and legs. She didn’t appear seriously hurt. But what had happened…?

 

“It must have been a bomb!” Jer pointed back, back at the church. The memory of the windows exploding outward returned to Anny and she pulled out of Jer’s grasp and struggled to her feet.

 

“The church! My men are in there!”

 

“Anny! Wait!”

 

But she couldn’t wait. Her men… all the wedding guests… She staggered forward, past people sprawled on the ground, past people running, past people screaming. All civilians. No uniforms. She nearly tripped over her sword so she wrenched the belt loose and let it drop. Her stunned ears were recovering and the noise was becoming much sharper, much closer, much more urgent. She reached the church. The heavy walls had survived the blast, but all the windows were gone and roof tiles were scattered everywhere along with splintered beams and rafter. The smoke was thinning out and now she could hear sirens and alarms in the distance. Milagres did have emergency services again, but they needed to get the Barrayaran sapper company here, too! She tried her wristcom, but all the response she could get was: _We know! We know! We’re on the way!_

 

Stumbling over debris, she and Jer reached the main doorway. It was choked with rubble; the roof and the upper floors had collapsed. She started grabbing things and dragging them away from the opening. Jer was next to her and she spared him a quick look. He had a nasty cut on his scalp, which accounted for the blood on his face, but he seemed unharmed otherwise. More people joined them and they soon had a bucket-brigade passing debris from hand to hand. They found the first casualty, a local woman, her festive holiday dress torn, tattered and covered with grime. But she was alive; they uncovered her and carefully pulled her out. Medical personnel were arriving now and she was turned over to them.

 

Anny was able to see through gaps in the debris into the main part of the church. There didn’t seem to be any fire, thankfully, and the dust and smoke was dispersing, but the large space was piled high with rubble; the whole roof had come down. She was gasping for breath and sweat streamed down her face as she continued to work; she tore open her tunic. How many people had been inside? How many of her people? Too many, too many. The sappers arrived and she was pulled aside to make room for them. They had hand-tractors and soon the rubble was coming out in a stream. More casualties, some in uniform, began to emerge. A triage unit and first aid station was being set up on the square and Jer dragged her over there. She didn’t want to go, but there was nothing more she could do at the church except get in the way.

 

“Got to get your head patched up,” she said to Jer.

 

“Yeah. You, too.”

 

“What?”

 

“You’ve got blood all over your face, Anny.” Automatically her hand went to her face, but when she took it away it was no bloodier than it had been. Must have dried. Now that the adrenalin high was passing, she felt very dizzy and suddenly had no energy left at all. She and Jer slumped down on the ground near the first aid station and waited. Emergency personnel were scurrying around and laying out equipment. Bodies on stretchers started accumulating and medtechs bent over them with scanners. A medical lift-van landed and Anny cringed when she saw them unloading cryo-pods—several of which were called for immediately. This was going to be bad. She started to shudder. Would she have any platoon left at all?

 

She saw Chris Tropio and Chris saw her at the same moment. The woman ran over to her. “You okay?” she demanded.

 

“I think so. Cuts and bruises for both of us, but nothing worse, I don’t think.”

 

“All right, you both sit tight and I’ll get someone to take a look at you when this settles down.”

 

“How… how bad is it, Chris?”

 

“Don’t know yet. Bad enough. Gotta go.” She ran back.

 

She and Jer sat there for a while, their pain growing. In a moment of inspiration, Jer grabbed a passing sapper and requisitioned the first aid kit off his belt. A Synergine tablet for each of them made a world of difference. A couple of water bottles and some towels snatched from the triage area and they managed to treat each other’s wounds and get cleaned up a bit. After an hour or so, a med tech did spare them a minute, but he just approved of what they had already done and left again.

 

Casualties had been emerging from the rubble in a steady stream. Some were being treated on the spot, some were whisked away in ambulances, and some—too many—were being put into cryo-pods. Anny, staring at the pods, forced herself to remember that there had been a lot of civilians in the church; these weren’t all her men. She tried to get closer to the triage, to see who was being brought out, but she was shooed away. There was now a heavy perimeter of men in armor. Crowds of spectators had assembled on the far side of the square.

 

“Maybe… maybe we ought to get back to base,” suggested Jer after a while. He was right: there wasn’t a damn thing useful she could do here and they were just in the way. But she couldn’t force herself to leave.

 

A little while later, Alby arrived and found them. He looked enormously relieved. “There you are! Thank God! I couldn’t find you anywhere on the casualty list and I was afraid…”

 

“You’ve got a casualty list?” demanded Anny, grabbing him by the arm.

 

“Yeah, I hacked into the central medical computer. But it’s not complete and they keep updating it…” He looked to where the sappers were still hauling rubble out of the church.

 

“Let me see!” Alby glanced at Jer and then pulled out his compad, fiddled with it for a moment and then handed it to her. Her eyes didn’t want to focus on the information that flowed before them and her brain hiccupped over the unfamiliar names of the civilians. And then there were all sorts of strange medical shorthand and acronyms that made no sense to her next to the names. What the hell did _SET-STB-TRN_ mean? She nearly threw the ‘pad away in frustration. She wanted to scream: _how many of my men are dead?_

 

“Lieutenant? Lieutenant Payne?” She twitched and spun around. A med tech was standing there.

 

“What is it?”

 

“Uh, could you come with me? We’ve got a situation.”

 

She numbly followed after the tech, Jer and Alby tagging along behind. They reached the tents that had been erected to give the triage area shelter and Chris Tropio met her there. “Anny…” she said, her face a mask.

 

“Chris! What is it?”

 

“Anny… it’s Jac.”

 

A moan escaped her lips. She’d been agonizing over the fate of her dog-robber all during the long wait. She’d expected to find him in the rubble by the doors. He’d held her place in line and he should have been right there. But when they hadn’t found him, she hoped that maybe he’d gotten clear and they just hadn’t seen him. “Is he… is he…?”

 

“He’s clinically dead, Anny,” said Chris. “Massive trauma to his head and chest…”

 

“Can’t you put him in cryo?” cried Anny. “Fix him up…?”

 

“We can, and I’ve got him prepped. But…”

 

“But what?”

 

“He’s specifically requested on his medical information form not to be put in cryo. I… I don’t have any authority of override that request.”

 

“Oh no…” It felt to Anny like someone was squeezing her throat shut.

 

“But that’s crazy!” exclaimed Alby. “He’s not _that_ old! Just in his sixties!”

 

“Maybe,” said Chris. “But it’s his right, Alby. I shouldn’t even be asking Anny about this, but I just… hell I don’t know why I’m doing this, I just thought…” Chris’ reserve broke down and she turned away.

 

Tears started in Anny’s eyes, but she couldn’t make a sound. She clutched at Jer. “Is there any way to repair the damage without putting him in cryo?” asked Jer.

 

Tropio shook her head. “Not really. Half his internal organs are going to have to be regrown. And then there’s the damage to his brain. We’d have to keep him on full life support for months and his instruction won’t allow that, either. Full recovery… full recovery could take longer than he’d live naturally. Anny… Anny, what do you want me to do?”

 

Anny clung to Jer to keep from toppling over. _Why are you even asking me?_ She screamed silently. _It’s not my decision!_ But it had become her decision. It would be her decision even if she refused to decide. She could save Jac… No, she could keep Jac alive, but that wasn’t the same thing as saving him. She could keep him alive and hope that the doctors could put him back together. But there were no guarantees. Cryo revival was always problematic, even when the subject was young. Even when there was no serious brain damage. She remembered filling out her own medical request form and she’d checked the _yes_ box next to the cryo question with hardly a thought. She was young with sixty or eighty or a hundred years of life ahead of her. Why wouldn’t she want cryo treatment if necessary? There would be plenty of time for recovery.

 

But what if she was Jac’s age? Would years and years of therapy, only to die anyway, without ever regaining anything like a normal life, be worth it? Was that what Jac was thinking? Was that what Jac wanted? _He’s already told us what he wanted._

 

“Anny?”

 

Tears were streaming down her face now, but she stood upright and looked straight at Chris. “Let him go. He’d want to make the transfer.”

 

Tropio nodded. “I’m sorry, Anny.” Then she turned away.

“Anny, I’m so sorry,” said Jer. She just put her head against his shoulder, afraid to try and say more.

 

“Transfer?” asked Alby quietly, confused, crying.

 

“To the White Battalion.”

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

“It was a trinary catalyst type explosive, sir,” said the regimental engineering officer. “A type we haven’t encountered before. We’ve adjusted our sensors and we’ll spot it next time, but…” the man shrugged.

 

Alby snarled silently. The battle between bombers and security forces was a never-ending cycle. Modern sensors could easily spot the tell-tale elements in all the old, traditional chemical explosives. So the bombers were always coming up with new combinations that would read as completely harmless and normal on sensors—until it was time to detonate. Sensors could be re-adjusted each time a new combination was encountered, but by then the bombers would be using something else.

 

“This is very sophisticated stuff, sir,” continued the engineer. “Not something that can be cooked up in a local lab. Clearly this was provided by the EnBees.”

 

Colonel Fetherbay nodded grimly. He looked around the table at the staff meeting and his eyes settled on Captain Hopkins, just to Alby’s right. “Any clues on how it was done, Captain?”

 

Hopkins shook his head. “Not really, sir. We know the bomb was concealed inside the church altar, but it could have been placed there days or weeks before the wedding. There was nothing secret about the date, after all. Most of the church staff were killed in the blast—they were standing right there—and none of the survivors we’ve questioned know anything. But the message is pretty damn clear, sir.”

 

“It certainly is,” agreed Fetherbay. “To us and to the local population.”

 

“Yes sir,” said Hopkins. “It’s pretty obvious now that our arrival on Tamborete took the EnBees by surprise and they didn’t have any immediate resistance plans in place. That’s why the pacification program was going so smoothly. But now, now it seems that they’ve gotten their act together and are prepared to strike back at us—and at any locals who cooperate with us.”

 

“Yeah”, murmured Alby, “and you can’t get more cooperative than marrying one of us.” The bride and groom had both been killed, blown to bits in the blast.

 

“Yes, Mr. Vorsworth,” said the Colonel. “But I doubt that we’ll see any more weddings for a while.”

 

“That’s probably true, sir,” said Hopkins, “Many of the locals have been frightened—as they were intended to be—but many of the others are truly angry about this. Angry at the Enbees. We may be able to take advantage of that.”

 

Fetherbay looked thoughtful. “Perhaps. Do you have any specific suggestions, Captain?”

 

“Well, sir, me and my people have been talking about this,” he glanced at Alby. “The natural reaction for both us and the locals would be to step back, draw apart. We’ll each be blaming the others for our losses as much as we’ll blame the EnBees. If there just hadn’t been a wedding, if we hadn’t let ourselves get close, this wouldn’t have happened; that sort of thing.”

 

Fetherbay nodded. “Increased surveillance, less interaction, more restrictions, more suspicion.”

 

“Yes, sir, exactly. And by doing so, we’d be giving the EnBees exactly what they want: a wedge driven between us and the locals. So what if we don’t do that, don’t do what the EnBees want us to do? Instead of drawing away, what if we get closer? Help the locals rebuild their church…”

 

“We were going to do that anyway,” interjected the engineer.

 

“Yes, but we should get more involved, make it a real community—and I mean the community of the 61st—project. And we should have representatives at the funeral services for the locals and we should invite them to ours. Make their grief ours and ours theirs. Show them that we care and that we are with them for the long haul.”

 

“An interesting idea, Captain,” said Fetherbay. “But won’t that make our security problems even worse?”

 

“Yes, sir, that’s the risk. We would be making ourselves more vulnerable to future attacks. At least in the short term. But if we can get more of the locals on our side—I mean really on our side, not just pretending to be—it could help enormously in the long term.”

 

“And sir,” said Alby, speaking up, “if we plan our activities carefully, we should still be able to maintain a certain level of security. I’ve been working on some plans.”

 

Fetherbay slowly nodded his head. “All right, put together a proposal and I’ll take a look. I think the idea for the funerals is a good one and we’ll go ahead with that in any case. But the local rites will be an obvious target. We’ll need to really be on our toes, people!”

 

“Yes, sir,” said Alby and everyone else around the table.

 

“In the meantime,” continued Fetherbay, “we continue to pick up the pieces.” He consulted his computer. “Eleven dead, nine more in cryo, and thirty-two other casualties. C Company has taken a beating. Again. But, on the bright side, there’s a supply convoy due next week and it will be bringing over a hundred replacements for the regiment. Most of those will have to go to C Company, but there will be enough to get us all nearly back to full strength. But keep an eye on the newbies! Most of them are going to be keyed up and wanting to shoot anything that moves. Itching for action, just the way a lot of us were when we first got here. They have to be made to understand that the locals are not the enemy. But at the same time, they have to realize that there may well be enemies hiding among the locals. It’s a tricky balancing act and it’s up to us to make it work. Understood?”

 

“Yes, sir.” The officers stood and began to disperse. Alby returned to his own cubicle. He’d have to help Hopkins put together the new proposal, but that wouldn’t stop him from working on his own analysis of the situation. Hopkins had not been able to get much of anything from BEF HQ, but the information he’d gotten from Izabella was providing some interesting grist for his mill. Nothing glaring had emerged, but he felt like he was making some progress.

 

_Right here! Right under our noses!_

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

“Okay, people we’ve got quite a job ahead of us,” said Captain Vorstang. “We’ve got forty-one replacements to get integrated into the company. I’m _told_ ,” he paused to let that word sink in, “that all of these men are trained and fully qualified in the Mark XI battle armor. But we aren’t going to make any assumptions! Check them out! Find out what they really know and what they are bluffing about. The good news is that we’ve been relieved of all other duties for the next two weeks to do this. So that means two weeks of drill, drill, drill!”

 

Anny nodded in satisfaction. The fact was that they all needed the drill. Occupation duty had not left much time for the standard training that an assault regiment usually got. They were all getting soft. And, she thought grimly, it was leaving them too much time to think about what had happened. The empty bunks, the empty places at the mess tables might be filled up again, but the loss was still an unhealed wound on the company. She clenched her jaw and refused to think about it.

 

“One other bit of good news, that you are all aware of,” continued Vorstang, “is the absolutely miraculous return to us of _Ensign_ Milroy.” He paused and gestured to the new man at the table. Except he wasn’t new. Anny had met him on her second day with the 61 st. He used to be the commander of the platoon that was now hers. There was some polite applause which Anny joined. “It’s not all that common for an NCO to get sent to officer candidate school, but for him to make it through and actually get sent back to the same regiment he came from is almost unheard of. But for him to be sent to the same battalion and the same _company_ , well! At that point it truly does enter into the realm of the miraculous.”

 

“Just lucky, sir,” said Milroy, blushing pink. “But it’s good to be back. Real good, sir.”

 

“Good to have you. But now that you are here, what do I do with you?”

 

“I’ll serve in any position you want, sir.”

 

“Yes… I suppose I could use you in the company HQ, but we could also push the miraculous to its absolute limits and put you back with your old platoon.”

 

Anny immediately came alert. Milroy’s old platoon was _her_ platoon now! Vorstang’s gaze swung her way but went right on past to rest on the man sitting next to her.

 

“Mr. Vorstuban, you’ve done very well under Lieutenant Payne’s tutorage. Would you object to shifting to First Platoon and giving Mr. Milroy a turn with her?”

 

Vorstuban looked surprised and a little disappointed, but he shook his head. “No sir, no objection at all. Who am I to stand in the way of a miracle?”

 

“Good. Lieutenant Payne, Ensign Milroy works for you now, okay?”

 

“Certainly, sir,” she said automatically. But inside she was far less certain. This could be… awkward. “He’ll be a great help in whipping the newbies into shape.”

 

“Excellent. All right, we all have our work cut out for us. But that will begin tomorrow. Today we have another duty to perform, as you are all aware. The company will assemble at 1350. Dress greens. Dismissed.”

 

They stood up and Anny looked to Vorstuban. He held out his hand. “It’s been a pleasure working with you, Lieutenant. I’ve learned a lot, and thank you.”

 

She shook it and nodded. “It was good working with you, too. Good luck with your new post.” Milroy approached them, looking a bit uncomfortable.

 

“I didn’t mean to break up your team,” he said. “Sorry about that.”

 

“It’s all right,” said Vorstuban. “We’ve only been a team for a couple of months. And Dahlberg’s a good guy; we’ll get along. And it’s not like I’m going far.”

 

Anny smiled and nodded. She was going to miss working with Vorstuban. She remembered how leery she had been of him to start, but he’d worked out fine. He moved off, leaving her facing Milroy. “Good to see you again… Ensign.” She extended her hand.

 

“And you,” he said shaking it. “I hope the boys behaved for you. I kept in touch as much as I could and I didn’t hear of anything that was _too_ alarming.”

 

Anny laughed. “No, that warning you gave them before you left seemed to do the trick. They’ve been great.” Her expression darkened. “But I’m afraid I’ve gotten your platoon pretty banged up. I’m sorry.”

 

“Not my platoon, Lieutenant, it’s yours. I spent a few years with those chuckleheads, but we never saw any combat. Just not the same thing at all. And from what I’ve been hearing around here, they would have been banged up a lot worse if you hadn’t been in charge.”

 

Anny shrugged. “We’ve had some hard times, but we’re still here.” She motioned Milroy out the door of the command module and they slowly walked toward the platoon’s barracks. “We’ve got a bunch of replacements to fold into the platoon. You spent the whole trip out here with them. How are they? What sort of training have they had?”

 

“They’re all trained assault troopers. At least they have some experience using the armor and the basic drills. Or so their general records say. Unfortunately, they shipped us out here on a supply ship, not an assault transport or even on a navy warship. It didn’t have any training facilities at all.”

 

Anny’s jaw dropped in dismay. “None?”

 

“Nothing worthy of the name. I was the ranking man of our group, so I had them doing PT in the bunk rooms and passageways. Physically they aren’t in bad shape. But it’s been four months since any of them—including me—has been in a suit of armor. We’re all badly out of practice.”

 

“You’ve had years of experience before that. But most of these newbies are younger, aren’t they? Relatively new to the service?”

 

“A lot of them, yeah. But there are a few older men. Normally that might be a good thing, but I’m not so sure.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Well, with a four month trip with nothing much to do, the men got pretty bored in spite of anything I could come up with.” Anny nodded, yeah, that would be a hell of a thing to have to deal with. “Maintaining discipline wasn’t easy and frankly, I had more trouble with the older men than the younger. I didn’t have authorization to look at their personal records, but I wouldn’t be surprised if some units took advantage of the request for replacements to get rid of some of their screw-up.”

 

“Oh joy. Well, now that they are officially assigned to us I can damn well look at their records,” said Anny. “If we’ve got any chronic trouble-makers we’ll find out and… deal with it.”

 

“Yes, sir,” said Milroy, grinning. The grin faded and he asked: “How’s Kay working out?”

 

“Good. He was a bit of a problem at first. I think… I think he’d gotten used to working in your shadow for so long that he didn’t know how to become the top sergeant in the platoon.”

 

“I was afraid of that,” said Milroy, nodding. “He’s a good man, but never really was able to take charge.”

 

“He’s grown into the position, though,” said Anny. “He’s had to, and he hasn’t muffed it. But Ensign,” she paused and looked straight at him. “You can’t let him backslide. He’s the platoon sergeant now, not you. You’re an officer now and some things just aren’t your job anymore.”

 

Milroy looked thoughtful. “Yes, sir. That got mentioned to me a few times at OCS. More than a few.”

 

“And the fact that most of the men remember you and like you is going to be awkward, too. You can’t slip back into the old familiarity. That’s going to be hard, but you have to do it.”

 

“That was mentioned a few times, too, sir. It’s a common problem for mustangs.”

 

Anny grinned. “Okay, no more lectures!” They had reached the platoon area and already men had recognized Milroy. They called to others and a crowd was starting to gather. “I’ll leave you to get reacquainted. But don’t let things get too jolly. We’ve got serious duty this afternoon.”

 

Milroy saluted her and went to join his old platoon. Anny watched for a moment and then walked away. She went to the mess hall and got some lunch. Milroy would work out fine, she decided. She’d miss Vorstuban a bit, but she thought she could work with Milroy. At least he knew his way around a platoon and around battle armor. These new replacements worried her though. She pulled out her compad while she ate and called up the records of the older men who had been assigned to her. Nothing really jumped out at her. No ‘guardhouse rats’ or chronic malingerers as far as the records showed. No outstanding service, either, though. Well, they’d have to keep an eye on them. She wondered how they’d react when they found their platoon commander was a woman? Well, the others would certainly straighten them out if they had any problems with it! A warm glow filled her. It really was her platoon, just as Milroy had said. They were her men and she could count on them.

 

She just wished she could take better care of them. Most of the wounded men from the assault on Milagres had returned to the platoon by now, but there was a gaping hole left by the bombing. Over a third of the men in her platoon were replacements who didn’t know her and she didn’t know them.

 

And she missed the ones who were gone for good.

 

She thought back to that conversation she’d had with Lord Vorkosigan in her junior year. How you dealt with losing men under your command. She’d learned to come to terms with it; learned during that nightmare on Dounby and the beaches of Milagres. But it would never be easy for her. She supposed that was a good thing. The idea of losing a man and not _caring_ about it… she hoped she never reached that stage. But it hurt.

 

She finished her meal and went back to her quarters. They were a mess, which only reinforced the sense of loss. Jac would never have let her quarters get in such a state, but she hadn’t been able to force herself to get another dog-robber. It was just too soon. She started straightening up and at the same time laying out her dress greens. She’d had to send them to the cleaners after… after what had happened. They’d done a good job and all the dust and blood was gone from them. They’d managed to mend the small tears left by the flying glass, too. But she never had found her sword and belt. They were gone for good apparently. So she’d had to borrow one from a man she knew in second battalion. She’d put in a requisition for a new one, but those were among the few things the armada _hadn’t_ brought replacements for. It would be months before it could arrive. She’d managed to find a black ribbon, which was now wrapped around the hilt.

 

Eventually it was time and she dressed herself. Her peaked cap was her spare; the usual one had been run over by a rescue vehicle and was beyond repair. She hoped she wouldn’t lose this one. The company was just starting to form when she reached their street. All the usual good humor and jocularity was missing as they fell into ranks. The new men looked nervous; the veterans looked grim. Milroy was there in his own dress greens and nodded to her. Sergeant Kay confirmed that everyone was there and reported that fact to First Sergeant Nikolaidis. Vorstang called the company to attention and Anny took her spot with the file closers, Milroy a few paces to her left.

 

They marched out to the parade ground and joined the other companies of the battalion. The regimental band was there, too, but they all had their instruments reversed and their drums were muffled and draped in black. On the far side of the field was a crowd of civilians, people from the town who had been invited. The battalion was formed and Major Vorglanov ordered bayonets to be fixed and arms reversed. The men tucked their rifles under their left arms with butts up and the bayonets pointed to the rear. It was an awkward position and, thankfully, rarely used. It was used while escorting condemned prisoners…

 

… and for funerals.

 

Anny reversed her sword in the same fashion, then they faced right and slowly marched around the parade ground. Slowly, for they used the agonizingly slow 70-steps to the minute pace reserved for these occasions. A single drum kept the beat.

 

After an eternity, they reached the area where the civilians were waiting. A few dozen troopers from the other battalions, also in dress greens, were acting as their escorts. A much more heavily armed perimeter was also in place out of sight. The ceremony here was an obvious target for the EnBees, just as the funerals for the civilian dead had been the week before. But nothing had happened there and hopefully nothing would happen here, either.

 

The ancient and elaborate bronze bowl used by the regiment for offerings had been set up on its wrought iron tripod and the battalion halted facing it. A and D companies wheeled in to form a 3-sided square with the civilians watching through the open end. They were put at parade rest. The official part of the ceremony was brief. Major Vorglanov simply read the names and ranks of the men who had died. Nothing more. What else was needed? Everyone here knew what had happened. The men had died for Barrayar and the Empire. What more needed to be said?

 

Then they were called to attention and presented arms as a bugler played _Last Post_ , the traditional call for this occasion. It was a sad and mournful tune and Anny saw in her mind’s eye the ghostly ranks of the White Battalion welcoming its new transfers. She bit down on her tongue hard and blinked furiously to keep the tears in her eyes from finding her cheeks.

 

The call ended and they were put back at parade rest. The battalion sergeant major then lit the wood that had been placed in the bowl. It flared up and burned cleanly. Major Vorglanov approached, put something into the bowl which made a bit of smoke, saluted and then stepped aside. Several other men of the battalion staff did likewise. What came next was in stark contrast to the strictly regimented movements that had just happened. Now men left the ranks if they wanted to and joined a line forming in front of the offering bowl. Friends of the dead, squadmates, anyone who felt the need. About a hundred did so and Anny joined the line. Each one had their own reasons, their own offerings, their own words to say, but it was personal, private. Anny eventually reached the front, took the ribbon from her borrowed sword, and fed it to the flames. She said a silent prayer for her men and then: “I’m sorry Jac. I’ll make sure Polly knows she’s not grieving alone.” Then she saluted and returned to her place.

 

As the last of the men in uniform made their offerings, Anny was pleased and a little surprised to see some of the civilians joining the line and making offerings of their own. This was not the Novo Pavean way of doing things, but they did it anyway. Only a dozen or so, but from the murmurs around her, she could see that the battalion approved.

 

Finally, it was over and Vorglanov dismissed the battalion from right there. The ranks broke up and most of the men headed back to their barracks. A few, perhaps too self-conscious to do it in front of everyone, approached the bowl and now made their own offering, or just gave a salute. Others went and mingled with the civilians. Anny walked over herself, wanting to thank them for coming.

 

As she did so, she was pleased to see Ines Da Silva heading her way. The teacher still had a few bandages visible, but seemed otherwise healthy. But she did look troubled. “Lieutenant Payne…” she began.

 

“Please, call me Anny.”

 

“Oh… all right… Anny. And you can call me Ines.”

 

“Good. Thank you for coming, Ines.”

 

“And thank you and the others who came to our own funerals. It made a big impression on people.” She paused and looked around. “Can we speak in private? I wanted to talk to you the other week, but we were… interrupted.”

 

“Sure.” She led her away to a reasonably private spot. “What is it?”

 

Now Da Silva appeared to be very troubled. She looked around and then said in a low voice: “There is something I have never told you, Anny.”

 

Anny shrugged. “I’m sure there are a lot of things we’ve never told each other. But what’s this about?”

 

“This is difficult. You see…. You see, I have an older brother, and he has been working for the EnBees.”

 

“What?” exclaimed Anny in shock.

 

“Yes, it’s true, I’m ashamed to say. He is not part of their regular forces, but when the war started, he sided with them. He’s in one of their resistance cells.”

 

“You mean here? On Tamborete?”

 

“Yes. He had moved to another island for a while, but he’s back here now.”

 

“Why are you telling me this? Has he contacted you? Do you know where he is?” _Does she want to turn him in? Her own brother?_

 

“I don’t know where he is now, but he has a means of contacting me. Anny, this is important. He is sick of this war. Sick of the things that have happened. The church bombing. He and many others with him want to end the fighting. But the EnBee regulars, the secret police, they won’t quit. So he and his comrades are willing to switch sides, willing to tell what they know of the EnBee’s plans and bases.”

 

Anny’s brain was spinning. This could be a huge opportunity! “But… but that’s wonderful! How..?”

 

“Yes, the _how_ is the big problem, Anny,” said Da Silva.”As you can imagine, they must be very careful. If the EnBees had any inkling, my brother and his friends would be dead. Perhaps me, too. But at the same time, they do not trust the rebel government, either.”

 

Anny nodded. Yes, she could understand that! The revolutionary government was showing little mercy to EnBees or ‘loyalists’ who fell into their hands. She wasn’t sure how the Alliance had managed to keep the government’s thugs off Tamborete, but anyone wishing to surrender or switch sides was walking on very thin ice. “I can see that, but why are you talking to me about this? He should go and talk to the Colonel.”

 

“No, my brother will not trust your colonel or any other of your officers.”

 

“Then what…?”

 

“My brother wants someone he can trust.” Da Silva stared straight into her eyes. “I told him he can trust you.”

 

Anny’s mouth fell open.

 

 

 * * *

 

 

 

Ivan Vorpatril growled in frustration as his comconsole pinged. Another interruption. At this rate he was never going to get these damn reports done! He hit the key and said: “Yes?”

 

“Lord Vorpatril,” said the image that materialized. It was Vorpinski’s secretary. “The Ambassador asks you to join him immediately in Conference Room B.”

 

“Immediately?”

 

“Yes, my lord, he’ll be waiting for you.” Ivan’s eyebrows rose. There was no meeting scheduled today; this must be something new. What had happened? He closed down his comconsole and left his office. Conference Room B was several buildings away and he walked briskly through the compound. His path took him along the edge of the huge military base that had been constructed. Huge, but now largely deserted except for supply personnel. Most of the combat units that had once been based here were now out, dispersed among the locals, in the new pacification strategy. A strategy that did appear to be producing some results. Maybe Vorpinski had good news.

 

He reached the conference room and was impressed to see not only Vorpinski, but General Vordanov and several senior members of their respective staffs. Definitely something important going on.

 

“Ah, Ivan,’ said Vorpinski. “Have a seat.” He did as directed and looked at his boss expectantly. “We have some interesting news, Ivan, and I’m afraid I’m going to have to impose on you to volunteer for a rather ticklish job.”

 

 _In other words, you’ve already volunteered me. Great._ “Of course, sir. What’s it all about?”

 

“A major opportunity has arisen,” said Vordanov. “It could significantly affect the course of the war.”

 

_Sounds dangerous…_

 

“Yes,” said Vorpinski. “This is what has happened: a group of EnBee irregulars has offered to turn their coats if they can get the right deal. They claim to represent hundreds of guerillas and also to have information on the locations and plans of many of the EnBee regular forces.”

 

“That could be quite a coup, sir” agreed Ivan. “But where do I fit into this?” He was afraid he knew.

 

“Well, these irregulars are, quite naturally, very worried about retribution, both from the EnBees and from President Rodrigues’ crowd. They are insisting on some guarantees.”

 

“What sort of guarantees, sir?”

 

“Well, the main one is personal assurances of their safety from a high-ranking Vor. They seem to be aware of our system of honor and the value we place on a name’s-word. I’m perfectly willing to give them my word. So are General Vordanov and Admiral Vorburke. Unfortunately, they are insisting on a face-to-face meeting and getting that word in person.”

 

_Oh shit…_

 

“Admiral Vorburke is out at the wormhole entrance with the fleet and he’s absolutely vetoed either myself or the general going to this meeting.”

 

“So he wants me…?”

 

“Your position within the Vor is actually higher than that of any of us here,” said Vorpinski in a manner that Ivan supposed was meant to be flattering and reassuring, but which was anything but. “So you would be acceptable to the insurgents in that regard. And your position within our chain of command makes you…”

 

_Expendable?_

“… more flexible as to the duties you can undertake.”

 

“We realize that there are risks involved,” said Vordranov, “but we are making every effort to minimize them. The meeting will take place in the town of Milagres on the island of Tamborete. We won’t know the exact meeting place until the last moment—the insurgents insist upon that—but it will allow us to put up a secure perimeter around the town. You will be escorted by one officer, a Lieutenant Payne, whom I believe you know.”

 

_Anny Payne! Well, at least she’s competent…_

 

“Uh, why her, sir?”

 

“The insurgents contacted us through a local friend of Payne’s, a sister of one of them, apparently.”

 

“So, has this sister been questioned, sir?”

 

“Yes, with fast-penta. As far as she knows, everything is above board. But,” Vordranov shrugged “that doesn’t mean much. If any sort of treachery is being contemplated, they’d hardly tell her.”

 

“This could be extremely important, Ivan,” said Vorpinski, leaning closer. “I’m sure we can count on you to carry through with it.”

 

Ivan knew he was trapped. There wasn’t any choice at all.

 

“Of course, sir.”

 

 

Tej, quite predictably, wasn’t happy.

 

“But why does it have to be you?” she demanded when he told her about the mission. “They’ve got hundreds of Vor officers who could do it!”

 

“I’ve explained why! Believe me, I’m no happier about this than you are, but Vorpinski is insisting and there’s no way I can refuse!” She was fuming, but he forced himself to stay calm. “And it will probably be a cakewalk. There will be plenty of security all around me. And if this works, it might mean we can get out of here a lot sooner.”

 

That seemed to make an impression. “Really? How soon?”

 

“They are fast tracking this. The meeting is in two days and if we can smash a few major EnBee bases with the information we are supposed to get, it could give us a big enough boost to start drawing down our forces. Once this stops being a major operation, the need for a major diplomatic presence ought to go away and hopefully we can go away, too.”

 

“Well, that would be good. But you leave in just two days?”

 

“No, I leave in the morning. I need to get there sooner to go over the mission with the forces there and get as much preparation as I can.”

 

“And that Lieutenant Payne will be there to protect you? I remember her. She’s good, isn’t she?”

 

Ivan decided to not tell Tej that Payne’s task wasn’t exactly to be his bodyguard. Instead he just said: “Yeah, she’s good. I’ll be fine.”

 

“But you are leaving in the morning? So we just have tonight?”

 

Ivan smiled and put his arms around her. “Yeah. Just tonight. So let’s make the most of it, eh?”

 

 

The next day found him on an assault shuttle for the short hop to Tamborete. It took less than ten minutes to go from the base north of the capital of Araxa to the Barrayaran base outside the town of Milagres. A small crowd of officers was there to meet him, led by the regiment’s colonel. Anny Payne was there, too. Colonel Fetherbay greeted him warmly and shook his hand. “Welcome to Tamborete, my lord.” He introduced his staff, then a major who was from the BEF G2 office, and finally Payne. “I believe you’ve met the Lieutenant?”

 

“Yes, Colonel, I used to bump into her around Vorkosigan House; then we worked together briefly to come up with some fire-fighting procedures after the big forest fire. Good to see you again, Lieutenant.” They shook hands.

 

A ground car took them to the regimental HQ in the center of the town. Then Fetherbay led them to a meeting room where they proceeded to go over the security arrangements that had been arranged. A major named Danilov made the presentation. “Ever since we knew this meeting was to take place, we’ve had the town under the tightest surveillance. Sensor pick-ups on the taller buildings, at street corners and multiple drones overhead. A lot of that was already in place, and we were already beefing things up after the church bombing, but we’ve increased it even more for this. We’ve got most of 2nd Battalion forming a perimeter and at checkpoints on all the roads. We’re assuming that whoever is coming to the meeting is already inside the town, but we are doing our best to make sure no surprises come in from outside in the meantime.”

 

“That looks good,” said Ivan, looking over a schematic display. “But how is the meeting supposed to take place?”

 

“The Da Silva woman will be the intermediary. They will contact her. She will then come here and take you and Lieutenant Payne to the meeting place.”

 

“The insurgents have demanded that no direct surveillance be placed on Da Silva and we’ve honored that,” growled the G2 Major. “Of course, we have drones overhead and the moment she leaves her house, we’ll know she’s on the way here. But until she actually takes you to the meeting place, we won’t know where it is.”

 

“Once we do know where you are going,” continued Danilov, “we will create a perimeter about a block away from the site. They are permitting wristcoms with the transmitters disabled except for a screamer circuit. Hit that button and we can have someone to you in thirty seconds. You’ll have earbugs so we can keep you informed of anything that might be going on around you. You’ll have incoming, but they are insisting on no outgoing com.”

 

Ivan nodded. He didn’t like it, but it was an understandable restriction. “Any other electronics allowed? Compads? Recorders?” He was concerned about how much he might have to remember in his head. He had a good memory, but if this meeting was so damn important he wanted to get things right.

 

“No. They say they will supply you with a recorder once you are there that will allow you to keep an audio record of the meeting. It will also have their own demands on it. We’d like to put trackers on you, but the insurgents said no and even though we’ve got some that are darn hard to detect, our higher-ups have also said no. They don’t want anything to screw this up.”

 

That made sense, he supposed, but it also left Payne and himself flapping in the wind if something went seriously wrong. An awful lot could happen in thirty seconds. They went over a few other details but Ivan couldn’t see anything that had been left undone. Or at least anything that was allowed. He hated this sort of thing. Why wasn’t Miles here? He’d love it.

 

When the meeting wrapped up, they got back into the ground car and Ivan was given a quick tour of the town. Not for sightseeing, but to familiarize himself with the place—just in case. It was a sensible precaution. If it did hit the fan and he managed to get out of the meeting place, it would be good to know which way to run.

 

Then it was back to the headquarters and a rather nice dinner in the officers’ mess. He hadn’t attended anything like this in a long while and he was surprised at the nostalgia it produced. He’d only briefly been assigned to an actual regiment, early in his career, but he’d been invited by friends to many a regimental dinner over the years. Some had been quite memorable—and a few had sufficient liquor to leave no memory at all. This one was of the more restrained variety but he found himself enjoying it quite a lot. The 61st were good hosts and he nearly forgot what he was going to have to do on the morrow.

 

He was interested to see how well Payne managed to fit in. It must have been damn awkward for her at first, but she seemed to have overcome that. She acted like almost any other officer and those around her treated her like any other officer—almost. The differences were subtle, but they were there. Ivan had been at some dinners where—if there were no women present—things got pretty coarse, not to say lewd and disgusting. Not so here. The men—and Payne—told jokes and laughed and sang, but it all stayed pretty clean. How much of that was due to Payne’s presence, he wasn’t sure. Sometimes a colonel imposed his own brand of propriety on his officers. Fetherbay didn’t seem like a prude, but you never knew. There was sufficient booze to allow him to relax and have a good time, although when they drank a traditional toast to ‘absent friends’ you could have heard a pin drop. This regiment had paid in full.

 

The evening was concluded early, of course, as they all had a big day coming up. Ivan’s pleasant buzz faded very quickly as he was shown to his quarters and his worries returned. He called Tej and reassured her that everything was going to be fine and paid husbandly attention to ten minutes of her telling him to be careful. It took him quite a while to fall asleep.

 

They had him up before dawn. He showered, dressed and breakfasted with Fetherbay, Payne, and a few other officers. He did a double-take at Payne because she was wearing civies; some sort of local outfit that looked rather fetching on her. And then it was wait. All they knew was that sometime today the Da Silva woman would arrive to take them to the meeting. They didn’t know when anymore than they knew where, so they were obliged to be ready and waiting the whole damn day. Fetherbay and the others mostly had things to keep them occupied so he spent most of the time chatting with Anny, who also had nothing else to do. Most of their talk revolved around his Aunt Cordelia and his Cousin Miles and their families, since that was their common point of reference. Anny did tell a hilarious story about what Alby Vorsworth had done to some rival cadets during an Academy simulator exercise and Ivan responded with a few choice tales of some of Miles’ less glorious escapades. But somehow their talk kept coming back to the current mission.

 

“So you think we can trust this Da Silva?” Ivan asked for about the fifth time.

 

“I think so,” said Anny, also for the fifth time. “She’s been questioned under fast-penta, but of course if her brother was lying to her…”

 

“She’d pass the lie on to us, believing it to be true and the fast-penta wouldn’t catch her,” nodded Ivan. “Yeah, that’s always the problem.”

 

The morning was passed and it was nearly noon when an excited officer burst in on them. “She’s on the move!” he exclaimed. They jumped up, glad the waiting was over, and joined Fetherbay and his staff in their command center.

 

“She left her house a couple of minutes ago and is headed in this general direction, although not on a straight line,” said Major Danilov. They had a drone-supplied overhead view on a screen and the image of Da Silva was highlighted.

 

“Anything else going on?” asked Ivan.

 

“No. Nothing out of the ordinary. It’s the local weekend, of course, so there are more people on the streets.”

 

As they watched, Da Silva slowly worked her way through the crowds and took a roundabout route that gradually got closer and closer to the HQ. “Has anyone thought that this might just be a clever way of having her deliver a bomb in here?” asked Ivan.

 

“She’s not going to be allowed inside the force field,” replied Danilov. “She’ll be scanned outside and then you two go out to meet here. Get ready; looks like she’ll be here in another five minutes.”

 

Ivan used the opportunity to visit the restroom one last time and then joined Payne and the others near the front door. The word came that Da Silva had arrived, been scanned and was clean. Fetherbay shook their hands and wished them luck and they went through the portal in the force field and out into the sunshine. Da Silva was there waiting for them.

 

“Good morning, Anny,” said the woman with a strained smile. “Ready for your tour?”

 

“Ah, yes, Ines,” replied Anny. “Let me introduce my friend, Ivan. He’d like to join us, if that’s okay?”

 

“I’d be honored. Please to meet you, Ivan.” She extended her hand and Ivan took it and bowed over it. This was all a carefully choreographed ruse, of course, demanded by the insurgents to hopefully fool any _hostile_ watcher who might be out there. If everything was as it was supposed to be, they were taking a huge risk.

 

“Pleased to meet you, Ines. Shall we go?”

 

She led them away from the HQ building and then, somewhat to Ivan’s surprise, took them on a tour of the town. He—and pretty much everyone else—had been expecting a circuitous, but fairly direct journey to the meeting place. But that was not to be. They walked and walked and were shown the sights. They went in to a number of different places like the library, the small local museum, a restaurant where they actually ate lunch, a shopping bazaar. Da Silva chatted away like some true tour guide and ignored any subtle questions from him or Anny about when they were going to get to where they were supposed to go. Every time they entered some place a security perimeter would close in, only to have to be hastily called back again when they left. Ivan could hear the frustration of the watching officers by their comments that came through on his ear bug. Half the afternoon was gone by and they were still walking. Ivan was getting annoyed. Security was fine, but this was ridiculous. The thought struck Ivan that maybe Da Silva didn’t know where they were going either! Maybe she had been given a list of places to go and told the contact would take place at one of them. Great, if the insurgents got cold feet, they might waste the whole day and never accomplish anything!

 

“Oh, here is the school where I work,” said Da Silva, pointing to a large structure set back from the street. “Would you like to see inside?”

 

“Uh… sure,” said Ivan, half-tempted to say _no_ and see what happened.

 

“Yes,” said Anny, playing along.

 

“Okay, they are entering the school,” said someone over his earbug. “No occupants detected. Get ready to close in— _again_.”

 

They went up some steps and through the front doors, Da Silva still talking like a tour guide. She pointed out the main office and the cafeteria and auditorium without stopping. Then she turned down a long corridor lined with classrooms.

 

“Heads up!” said the ear bug suddenly. “A new contact just went through the front doors! Single contact. Running. He made it in before we had the perimeter set!”

 

Anny and Ivan both stopped in their tracks and looked back. Da Silva took a few steps and looked at them in puzzlement.

 

“Uh, I thought I heard something,” said Ivan lamely.

 

But a moment later he _did_ hear something: the sound of running feet. A few seconds after that, a small boy careened around the corner and shouted breathlessly: “Anny! Ms. Da Silva! Hi! What are you doing here?”

 

“Paulo!” said Anny sharply. “What are _you_ doing here?”

 

“I was on the playground when I saw you! So I followed you in. It’s the weekend! Why are you in the school? Why aren’t you wearing your uniform?”

 

“Uh, your teacher was giving me and my friend a tour…”

 

“Neat! Can I come along?”

 

Ivan glanced at Da Silva, fully expecting her to send the kid packing, but he froze when he saw the expression on the woman’s face. Every drop of color had drained from her complexion and she was rigid as a statue.

 

 _It’s here! The meeting is going to be here!_ He caught Anny’s attention and silently directed her to Da Silva. She saw it too. So the woman _did_ know where the meeting was and it was here. Good. About time!

 

Da Silva regained control of herself, glanced at Ivan and Anny, looked behind her for a moment, and then, to his complete surprise, said: “Yes, Paulo, yes, why don’t you come with us? I was just going to show Anny’s friend our classroom.”

 

Ivan could see that Anny was as gobsmacked as he was. Bring the kid to the meeting? Was she crazy or…? _Maybe the insurgents have their own perimeter set up! We can come in, but not leave until they’re satisfied!_ That was a bit alarming, but not all that unexpected actually. So the boy was stuck here.

 

“Ines…?” said Anny, confused.

 

“Come on, right this way.” She led them down the hall to a door which she unlocked. She ushered them through and closed the door again.

 

Ivan looked around what appeared to be an ordinary school classroom. The drapes were drawn across the windows and it was dark after the bright afternoon sun outside. It took him a moment to see the figure sitting at the back of the room. Sensors hadn’t picked up anyone else here… _Stealth suit._ The figure was wearing a suit that would block off any normal thermal or audio emission that a good sensor drone could use to see a person right through the roof or walls. Ivan forced himself to stay calm. This could be perfectly legitimate: the insurgents had every reason to want to remain anonymous until a deal was struck. He couldn’t afford to screw this up by panicking. He forced his hand to stay away from the wristcom.

 

“Ines, what is this? Why the kid?” came a low voice.

 

“No choice. We’ll adapt.”

 

“Ines? Is this your brother?” asked Anny.

 

The only answer they got was for a door at the rear of the classroom to open and for three more stealth-suited men to emerge. They all had objects in their hands…

 

“Ines! What’s going on?” demanded Anny. Ivan started backing towards the door.

 

The woman turned to face them, her face grim.

 

“Sorry, Anny,” she said.

 

He was fumbling for the screamer button on his wristcom when there were three superimposed _pops_ of compressed gas and something sharp stung Ivan in the chest. He looked down and had an instant to see a tiny dart stuck in him. Then he was falling and darkness swallowed him up.

 

 

**Chapter 24**

 

The explosion was almost a kilometer away, but it still nearly knocked Alby off his chair, despite the force field guarding the headquarters building. The shockwave rattled the whole structure, from the foundation on up. Items fell from shelves and desktops and plaster dust sifted down from the ceiling.

 

“What the hell…!?”

 

His cry was echoed by a dozen other voices, but even as he said it, Alby was horribly certain that he knew _exactly_ what the hell had happened. _Anny!_

 

Though he had no direct involvement with the mission, he’d kept himself informed and followed the progress—or lack thereof—as the day had passed. It was too much to hope that this explosion didn’t have something to do with it. He leaped from his chair and rushed to the situation room. His path took him past a window and he screeched to a halt. Off to the southwest a huge, boiling cloud of smoke and debris was climbing skyward. “Oh, no…” he groaned.

 

Other people joined him at the window, pointing and shouting and after a moment he was jostled aside. He threw off his shock and continued to the situation room. It was bedlam, with dozens of men dashing here and there and all talking at the same time.

 

“…were they inside? Were they inside?”

 

“…get the rescue teams moving!”

 

“Do not let the perimeter break! I say again: keep the perimeter in place! This may be a diversion…”

 

“…do you have them on thermals?”

 

“How the hell could I? The place is a freaking fireball!”

 

There were large display monitors all around the room and nearly all were showing the same thing Alby had just seen out the window: Smoke, flames, debris, from different angles and different distances, but still a scene of disaster. He spotted his boss, Captain Hopkins, on a com and he grabbed him by his arm.

 

“Was Anny in there?” he shouted.

 

Hopkins looked furious at being interrupted, saw who it was, and then froze. Alby shook him. _“Was she?”_

 

His face fell and he looked away. “Yes.”

 

Alby let go and stumbled backwards and collapsed into a chair.

 

“Anny. No.”

 

The room seemed to narrow and stretch into a dark tunnel filled with roaring noises. Space stretched, but time compressed and people came and went and the images on the monitors flickered and changed. The flames were extinguished and the smoke dispersed and the rescue teams combed through the wreckage. And all the while he sat there, unable to move. No one said a word to him. There was no need.

 

_Nothing could have survived that…_

 

One whole wing of the school building had been obliterated. This bomb had been much more powerful than the one used on the church. Roof, walls, everything had been blasted to unidentifiable rubble. A significant crater had been gouged out of the earth. But the crews sifted through it anyway—just in case.

 

_Anny’s dead. Anny’s dead._

 

The thought made no sense. It was impossible, wasn’t it? How could she be dead?

 

“Alby? Alby?”

 

Hopkins was there now, leaning over him. The room oozed back to its normal proportions.

 

“Alby, are you all right?”

 

“No.”

 

“I imagine not,” said another voice. Fetherbay was there behind Hopkins. “I’m terribly sorry about… about your friend.” Alby blinked. There was a raw fury in Fetherbay’s eyes that he’d never seen before. “We’ll find who was responsible for this and they will pay. I promise you that.”

 

Alby blinked again. _Revenge_. His thoughts hadn’t progressed that far, but yeah, that was a fine idea. Anger started to grow in him. Someone had to pay for this! They owed the whole regiment! So many people liked and admired Anny that…

 

_Oh shit…_

 

Another thought came crowding in and Alby’s hot anger turned to ice. “Who…? Who else knows?” he stammered.

 

“Anyone within thirty kilometers knows what’s happened. Or at least that _something’s_ happened. But the details? Only those with the need to know.”

 

“There’s someone who does need to know. Right now. Before he hears it by chance.”

 

Fetherbay’s anger receded, too. “Yes, yes, of course. I can send…”

 

“I’ll do it,” said Alby. He suddenly realized that his cheeks were wet and he angrily scrubbed the water away with his sleeve. “I have to do it.”

 

“All right,” said Fetherbay, nodding. “I’ll get you a vehicle and a driver.”

 

The Colonel gave orders and Hopkins escorted—hell, half carried—Alby downstairs. Hopkins was muttering the whole time: “I just don’t understand this… why the hell would anyone do this? The insurgents? The EnBees? It doesn’t make any sense for either group! All this just to kill two people? They have to know it’s only going to make us madder. Vorpatril’s got a big name and a lot of connections, but he’s nobody in his own right. And Payne’s just a lieutenant and… sorry, sorry…”

 

They reached the car before Alby could punch out his boss. Hopkins loaded him in and the vehicle pulled out. Apparently someone had told the driver where to go because he didn’t ask. The vehicle zipped along without a pause. The streets seemed deserted. “Where we goin’?” mumbled Alby.

 

“Roadblock on Route 12, sir. At least I was told to take you to Lieutenant Naddel, and that’s where he is. We’ll be there in two minutes.”

 

Two minutes. Two minutes to figure out how to tell Jer that the love of his life was dead. Couldn’t be done. Not if he had two years instead of two minutes.

 

They arrived all too quickly. “Looks like they’re on full alert, sir,” said the driver. Armored troopers were all about and there was an assault shuttle actually blocking the road ahead. They were forced to stop the car a hundred meters from the roadblock. A single man approached and had them get out. Alby produced his ID.

 

“Here to see Lieutenant Naddel,” he said.

 

“Just got word you were coming, sir. Okay, the Lieutenant’s over there.” He saw Jer and forced his reluctant legs to move toward him. Jer, also in armor, strode to meet him, visor up. The expression on his face was curious. Anxious.

 

“Alby, what’s up?”

 

He told him. His mouth opened and a dozen words and pain to last a lifetime spilled out.

 

During that awful fight on Dounby Alby had once seen a man—a Jacksonian—shot dead in the middle of a shout. It was like that now: one instant there and then the next instant gone. All the life drained out of Jer’s face. He stood a moment and then turned away. The suit of battle armor swiveled right and then left, but there were people in each direction. Finally, it headed toward a small building just off the road and faced the wall. Alby followed a few meters behind and then stopped and watched.

 

After a bit, a sergeant came up, glancing anxiously between Alby and his lieutenant. “Sir?” he said to Alby.

 

“Take over, sergeant. He’s… gonna need a few minutes.”

 

“Uh… okay, sir.” The sergeant moved off.

 

A small crowd was forming, mostly people in militia uniforms. They must have been helping man the roadblock, Alby realized numbly. After a bit, someone said something and there was a chorus of cries and exclamations and curses. Yeah, yeah, sergeants had ways to find things out… and this news was going to spread like wildfire. After a bit longer, that sergeant came back, his face set and angry. “I’ll keep ‘em away, sir. Take as long as you need.” Alby wasn’t sure if he was talking to him or Jer. Maybe the sergeant didn’t know either. Alby just nodded to him and the man moved off again. The other people drew back.

 

It was quite a while, but eventually Jer removed his helmet and then slowly sat down with his back leaning against the building. There were tears on his face and he looked straight ahead. Alby sat down next to him, feeling ridiculously tiny, not being in armor. Neither one said anything.

 

It was getting dark and a woman in fatigues approached bearing a couple of ration packs and water bottles. She looked helplessly at Jer and it was obvious she’d been crying. She set the stuff down and backed away a few meters and then turned and fled. Alby looked at the food but had no inclination to eat. His thoughts tumbled about randomly, bouncing off the sharp, bloody corners that seemed to fill his mind. That early thought about _revenge_ surfaced again. He needed to get back to work. Track those bastards down. But there was no way he could abandon Jer.

 

Night had fallen before Jer finally stirred. “We both always knew this could happen,” he said softly.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“But we never talked about it. Not really.”

 

“No.”

 

“What am I going to do, Alby?”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

Another long silence engulfed them.

 

It was fully dark when two new people arrived. Patric Mederov and Sven Estaban. The Colonel must have sent them. They approached slowly and after staring at Jer, they sat down next to Alby. Neither one said anything, but after a bit Patric started picking up pebbles and tossing then away. Shortly after that, Sven produced a bottle and passed it around. Alby took a swig. Brandy. Pretty good brandy. He held it up to Jer. It took two tries, but eventually Jer removed his armored gauntlets and took the bottle.

 

The brandy was on its third time around when Sven Estaban said: “She was one hell of lady, wasn’t she?”

 

That put a crack in the dam and dribble by dribble they started to talk. Memories of Anny Payne. _Remember when we first saw her at the obstacle course? That T-shirt she was wearing? Our eyeballs must have been sticking out half a meter! And the Fire! Oh My God, I thought we were toast! But she got us out. She always got us out, didn’t she? Whatever mess we got into, she always saved our sorry asses._

 

They cried some and laughed some and the bottle was empty and the ration packs, too, before they finally ran down. Much had been left unsaid—too many fond memories led to the painful realization that there would be no more to be made in the future—but what had been said had been a comfort for all of them. Alby sank back against the wall and closed his eyes, the blackness made a bit less bleak by the friends around him.

“Alby? Alby wake up.”

 

Alby blinked awake and squinted against the glare of a field lantern being held above him.

 

“Wha…?”

 

“Alby, the Colonel wants to see you right away. He says it is very important.”

 

“Rad?”

 

“Yes. Please wake up.”

 

He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and saw that it was, indeed, Rad Benin, the Cetagandan exchange officer and his sometime roommate. “What the hell time is it?”

 

“O340 hours.”

 

“And the Colonel wants me _now_?”

 

“Yes, now. Lieutenant Naddel, as well.”

 

“Why?”

 

“I cannot say. But it is most urgent. Get up, please.”

 

With a groan he hauled himself to his feet. Several people were unloading a totally confused Jer out of his armor and giving him some coveralls. A minute later, they were bundled into a tiny scout flyer which delivered them to the HQ building in about thirty seconds. But why? _Maybe they found who did this. A target…_

 

The HQ was very busy considering the time. They were ushered into the situation room, which was calmer, but no less crowded than the last time he’d been there. _Just yesterday…_

 

“Ah, Vorsworth, Naddel. Good. Sit down.” It was Fetherbay, looking tired and less crisp than his usual self. A beard shadow was on his chin and his tunic was open. Alby and Jer found seats and exchanged befuddled glances. “Colonel, could you repeat what you told us earlier?”

 

Only now did Alby notice the stranger in the room: a colonel with ImpSec ‘Eyes of Horus’ insignia on his collar. The man looked a bit annoyed, but shrugged.

 

“If you insist, Colonel.” He turned to face the two of them. “The item of primary importance to you is that after a thorough examination of the rubble at the explosion site, we’ve come to the definite conclusion that Lord Vorpatril and Lieutenant Payne were _not_ in the building at the time of the explosion.”

 

_“What!?”_

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Jer Naddel clutched the conference table and refused to believe it. Anny was dead. She wasn’t going to come back to life just because some ImpSec colonel said so. That didn’t happen. Not in real life. Not in his life. This was just some cruel trick. Some bureaucratic blunder.

 

But Alby was going crazy. He was jabbering and clutching Jer’s wrist so tightly his fingers were going numb. _How do you know? How do you know?_ he demanded.

 

“Any explosion will leave some remains, Lieutenant,” the ImpSec guy was saying. “Even an explosion this powerful. Even if the bodies were completely vaporized, there would still be organic residue left that we would be able to identify. After carefully sampling the area in and around the blast site, we have found no residue of Lord Vorpatril or Lieutenant Payne. None whatsoever. Nor of the Da Silva woman or the boy who joined them. We have found some tiny human traces, but they were surely produced by the normal accumulation of hair and skin cells left by the building’s usual inhabitants. Your people had to have been removed before the explosion occurred.”

 

“But how?” demanded another man. He wore major’s tabs and a BEF HQ patch on his tunic. Jer had never seen him before. “We had them on thermals the whole time! They were still there, in the building, right up to the moment it blew!”

 

“With due respect, major,” said the ImpSec colonel, “your people are trained for battlefield operations—which I’m sure they do very well—but they are not trained for this sort of thing. My people are. We’ve analyzed the data your drones recorded and while at first glance things appear to be as you say, a trained eye can pick it apart and see when and how the deception occurred.”

 

“For the benefit of us poor combat troops, could you elaborate, colonel?” said Fetherbay, his voice a mix of exhaustion and exasperation. Jer just gawked. Could this really be true? Could Anny still be alive? He hardly dared believe it. Because if he did and then it turned out not to be true… he couldn’t go through that again. Couldn’t lose her again…

 

“…now as you can see here,” the ImpSec guy was saying, pointing to one of the monitors “the thermal images of Lord Vorpatril, Lieutenant Payne, the Da Silva woman, and the local boy—we’ve managed to identify him from images taken as he moved to the building, by the way, he’s one of Da Silva’s students and as far as we can tell, simply there by chance—the images, while just vague outlines, still have sufficient variation in size and shape that we can pick out who is who with little difficulty.”

 

“ _We_ were able to tell that,” muttered the major.

 

“Yes,” said the colonel, raising an eyebrow, “but there are additional clues to be seen. Upon entering this room, there is a critical fifteen second period where Vorpatril, Payne, and the boy—but not Da Silva—cease to move. Then, here, they move for a few seconds and stop again. Please note how parts of their thermal outlines appear partially obscured during this movement. This does not happen to Da Silva. We theorize that this obscuration is caused by individuals in stealth gear. They probably immobilized Vorpatril, Payne and the boy with some sort of chemical agent since no energy discharges, as from a stunner, were detected. Then they are immobile for nearly one minute, during which time Da Silva’s image merges with that of the boy, as if she were sitting with him in her lap.” Jer blinked at the screen. Anny? Alive?

 

“Now, here is where it happens. Similar obscurations as before, but with the images also stretching, changing shape and then resuming their original status and immobility.” The colonel paused and looked over his audience. “A clever slight-of-hand, gentlemen. The abductors, knowing you would be monitoring our people, could not just trot off with their captives. They had to place decoys to keep your attention, while at the same time cutting off the real heat signatures of our people so they could be removed. If this were _my_ operation, I would have prepared dummies of the appropriate size with internal heaters to keep them at the proper temperature. These dummies would be kept wrapped inside stealth blankets until needed. Then when the time was right, the dummies would be unveiled while the victims were wrapped in the same type blankets—perhaps the very ones if they were quick enough.

 

“However, we can also speculate that the abductors were not prepared for the addition of the boy. Why they did not simply leave him to die, I can’t guess, but they found themselves short a dummy. Hence the merging of his image with Da Silva. When the switch is made, we can assume that Da Silva’s dummy is left while she carries the boy, concealed by the stealth blanket. Now…” He pointed at the screen again. “The switch is made and completed at time mark 1524.33. Five minutes and twenty-eight seconds later the bomb explodes. During that intervening time, the abductors escape with their captives.”

 

The major slowly nodded. “We noticed the strange lack of movement, sir. But we assumed our people were either waiting for the insurgents to arrive, or that there was, in fact, one or more stealth-suited individuals already there and the conference had begun. In either case, we had no reason to intervene—until it was too late.”

 

“But how did they get _out_?” demanded Major Danilov, the regiment’s operations officer. “We never let down our perimeter!”

 

“The bomb destroyed almost, but not quite everything, Major. Underground scans have detected the remains of a tunnel. We can’t tell exactly where it went to inside the school, but the other end intersects with a city utility tunnel that runs under the street, here.” He manipulated the display controls and a map of the city appeared. Colored lines crisscrossed it and a red light pulsed where he pointed. “A shame you didn’t think to put any sensors down there.”

 

“We did, sir!” said Captain Hopkins. “But there are over forty kilometers of those tunnels and we had a limited supply of the sensors. We concentrated on the most vital sections; the ones around this headquarters, the main power plant, water works, and so forth. We couldn’t cover everything!”

 

“I see. Pity. But once out of the school area, the abductors could have gone almost anywhere in the city. Hopefully we shall be able to find them before they can escape again.” A number of people began suggesting ways to search. Yes, yes, they had to find her now…

 

“But she’s _alive_!” hissed Alby. “She’s alive, Jer!”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Anny groaned and opened her eyes. At first everything was just a blur, but some repeated blinking eventually brought things into focus. A dark gray, rather irregular, ceiling was above her; something soft and flat lay under her. A bunk of some sort, she imagined; her hands scrunched up a blanket that covered her and the metal frame creaked slightly when she shifted her weight. Her arms and legs felt so heavy she wasn’t sure she could move them.

 

_What happened?_

 

The last thing she could remember was… what? Following Ines Da Silva on a seemingly endless tour of the town… the school… Paulo showing up unexpectedly… the classroom… men in stealth suits… and a dart in her flesh!

 

_Ambush, we were ambushed._

 

That realization lent sufficient urgency to force her traitor limbs to move. She rolled on her side and then pushed herself upright. Looking around, she could see that she was in a small room that had all the marks of a prison cell. The floor was smooth concrete, but the walls looked to be native stone, as if the room had been literally cut out of the rock. There was a second bunk opposite her upon which Lord Vorpatril lay face down, snoring softly. To her left was the only door, which looked very solid. A toilet and sink were to the right, mounted on the floor rather than the wall. She discovered Paulo lying on the floor at the foot of her bunk wrapped in a pile of blankets. Ines Da Silva was not there. The place was chilly and damp and it smelled of mold and machine oil and, oddly, the sea. A single glow-bulb in the ceiling provided a dim light.

 

A wave of dizziness seized her and she nearly vomited. But it passed after a minute of deep breathing. After-effects of whatever drug had been on that dart, she supposed. Once her stomach had settled, she became aware of the pressure in her bladder. There was no privacy whatsoever, but Vorpatril and Paulo were still out and hell, she was a soldier, wasn’t she?

 

It was only at that point that she realized she was now wearing a one-piece set of coveralls and nothing else. Vorpatril, as well. She couldn’t see how Paulo was dressed because of the blankets. The thought that at some point she’d been stripped naked and redressed by strangers was alarming. But there wasn’t anything she could do about it now. And she did need to go. Hell, there were probably hidden vid pick-ups watching her right now, so what difference did it make?

 

After finishing her business and checking to verify that the door was, indeed, locked, she decided to wake Vorpatril. This proved easier said than done, but after quite a bit of shaking and whispering she eventually had him sitting up on the bunk. “Shit… shit…” he groaned. “What t’ hell happened…?”

 

“It would seem we’ve been kidnapped, my lord. At the very least we are locked in somewhere and I don’t think it’s the school. Are you feeling all right? Whatever drug they used on us was pretty nasty.”

 

“You’re not kidding. Damn, I haven’t felt this hung over since… _oh hell!_ ” Vorpatril suddenly made a lunge for the toilet and managed to empty his stomach into it instead of on the floor. Anny politely looked away until he was done splashing water from the sink on his face and returned to his bunk. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

 

“Nearly did the same thing myself, sir.”

 

“Well, I’ve been locked up in worse places, but only just. So who do you think is responsible for this? The EnBees or those insurgents? If this is how they change sides, I think I’d rather have them as enemies!”

 

“I’m starting to wonder if there ever were any insurgents, sir. I can’t see any sense in them doing this and… and I have to believe that Ines knew she was leading us into a trap.” Anny shook her head in disgust. She’d trusted her!

 

“I thought she’d been question under fast-penta.”

 

“She was. They had me there to take her home afterwards. I wasn’t present for the actual questioning, though. I just don’t understand…”

 

“Who did the questioning?” asked Vorpatril.

 

“I think it was someone from BEF headquarters.”

 

“Not ImpSec?”

 

“No sir.”

 

“Ah.” Vorpatril looked thoughtful, but was silent for so long Anny finally prompted:

 

“Sir?”

 

“Oh. Yeah. My Cousin Miles used to work for ImpSec and he once told me that under the right circumstances, it’s possible to beat a sloppy fast-penta interrogation. Miles, himself, has a screwy reaction to fast-penta that allows _him_ to beat it, but even a normal person can do it with the right preparation. If you know exactly what questions you are going to be asked, you can use a sort of hypnotic suggestion to allow you to give the answers you want to those questions. That’s why a good interrogator will ask his questions many times and in a lot of different ways. If you can catch any inconsistencies or cracks in the story, you can break down the defense and get through to the truth. But I’m guessing the BEF guy didn’t do that. He’d been told that Da Silva was just some local school teacher and he treated her that way. He asked a few questions, like he would to some grunt POW, got the answers he was expecting and left it at that.”

 

“I was surprised at how quickly it went,” admitted Anny.

 

“Yeah, that fits. Are you working for the enemy? No. Is this a trap? No. Okay, good, you can go.” Vorpatril snorted.

 

“I just can’t believe that Ines would…” said Anny shaking her head sadly. The sense of betrayal was numbing, infuriating. “Except… except…”

 

“What?”

 

“Thinking back now… some of things she did and said…” Anny tried to organize her thoughts. “At the church… she pulled me away, got me to safety just in time—like she knew what was going to happen! Later, she said that she’d wanted to talk to me about her brother and I just thought it had been a lucky coincidence that she wanted some privacy, away from the crowd. But why approach me there in the first place?”

 

“Does seem odd.”

 

“And damn it! I’m an idiot! She told me that her brother was sick of the fighting and killing— _like what had happened at the church!_ But when she first tried to talk to me, the church bombing hadn’t happened yet! Oh, I should have seen that!” She clenched her fist and thumped it on her bunk.

 

“Always clearer in hindsight. No one else saw it either, Anny.”

 

“I should have!”

 

“Stop beating yourself up. I don’t suppose there’s a coffee maker hidden in here anywhere?”

 

“No, but I’m pretty sure there are audio and video pick-ups hidden in here, so we need to be careful what we talk about.”

 

Vorpatril snorted. “I doubt very much that either of us know anything that our hosts aren’t already well aware of. Seems like they were three steps ahead of us the whole time.”

 

“Yeah,” said Anny. There being nothing else to say, Anny checked Paulo, but the boy seemed to still be deeply asleep. Considering how potent the drug on the darts had been on full-sized adults, a child might be knocked out for a lot longer. She hoped that he was okay.

 

“Uh, Anny…” She turned and saw Lord Vorpatril looking a bit embarrassed. “I need to use the…” he motioned at the toilet. “Would you mind?”

 

“Oh. Sure.” She went to the end of her bunk farthest away and stared at the wall. After a few moments the toilet flushed and water ran in the sink. Then Vorpatril suddenly exclaimed:

 

“Damn!”

 

“What?” said Anny twisting around.

 

“The bastards took my wedding ring!” He was holding up his hand and frowning.

 

“Oh dear. I guess they stripped us to make sure we didn’t have any tracking devices on us. Sorry, sir.”

 

“I wonder if they’ve still got it or if they just dumped it with the rest of our clothes. Damn.” He was really upset. Anny was glad she’d never gotten in the habit of wearing jewelry.

 

Vorpatril went back to his bunk and after a bit Anny lay back on her own. There was absolutely nothing to do but fret. What did their captors want? If they’d done any research at all, they had to realize that Barrayar’s policy toward hostage takers would not lead to any concessions. And while Vorpatril was very high Vor, Anny was no one at all; hardly worth the effort they’d expended to snatch her. _Which probably makes me totally expendable…_

 

After an hour or so—there was no way to measure the passage of time—Paulo finally woke up and she had to spend quite some time soothing the frightened boy. The fact that she couldn’t tell him where they were, what their captors wanted, or when they’d be allowed to go home made the task all the harder.

 

Some time later, a small panel in the door slid open and a tray was pushed into their cell. It had three packs of field rations on it. Vorpatril shouted through the opening, but it immediately slid shut again.

 

“Well,” he said in annoyance. “Whoever they are, they’ve certainly got us.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“What do you mean he’s been taken?” Tej stared at Ambassador Vorpinski and his wife in disbelief.

 

“I’m so sorry, Tej. It would seem that the offer to negotiate was a ruse. We have every reason to believe that Ivan is unharmed, but it may take us a while to get him back. But don’t worry, we’ll do everything in our power.”

 

“Yes, dear,” added Lady Vorpinski, “there’s no need to worry. I’m sure everything will be fine.” The pair had arrived at her quarters unannounced and that, as much as anything else, had told Tej that everything was _not_ fine!

 

“But… but what happened? How did you lose him? I thought you had all that security on the job!”

 

“It’s rather complicated. The… opposition, had a very elaborate deception plan in place and I’m afraid they outwitted our security people. But the mere fact that they went to such great lengths to… acquire your husband indicates that they place a high value on him and they will certainly take good care of him.”

 

“So how much do they want to give him back? Will Barrayar pay?” Tej tried to calculate just how much Ivan Xav would be worth in ransom if this was a Jacksonian situation.

 

“Well, we haven’t been contacted by the opposition and I rather doubt that they are interested in money.”

 

“What then?”

 

“We don’t know yet. Something to do with this war, I imagine. But until they contact us, we can only guess. And search for him, of course. We have a lot of people working on this, Tej.”

 

“Did they… did they take that Lieutenant Payne, too?”

 

“Yes, I’m afraid so. They were very clever.”

 

 _So the bodyguard couldn’t even guard herself. What were these idiots thinking? What was Ivan Xav thinking?_ Anger flared inside her. “A shame we weren’t as clever!”

 

“You poor dear!” said Lady Vorpinski. “I know how hard this must be for you, but you have to have faith. We’ll get Ivan back to you.” She started to move forward as if she was going to embrace Tej, but pulled up short when she saw the murderous glare in her eye. The Vorpinskis made a few more ridiculous attempts to console her and then finally withdrew, leaving Tej alone.

 

 

She looked around the empty apartment and realized just how empty it was. _I’m alone._ Never in her life had she been truly alone. Growing up on Jackson’s Whole, the pampered daughter of a powerful baron, she’d had family, servants, bodyguards, tutors. Even during the terrifying flight following the takeover, she’d had Rish. And then she’d had Ivan Xav. Of course she still had family, but they were an impossible distance away. And she had bodyguards—whole battalions of them, not that that had done Ivan Xav any good. But there wasn’t one single person here who she could really count on to act in her best interest.

 

_Except me._

 

As she sat there alone, she realized that for the first time in her life she was going to have to act. Oh, she’d acted before: she’d fled when she was told to flee and then she’d hidden when she was told to hide and fled again and hidden some more. Step by step until she’d found herself with Rish and their truly pathetic decision to try and safeguard what was left of the family by jumping off a high balcony rather than risk capture. Not fight. Not figure out some way to escape. Just jump and end it all. She still had nightmares about it. If Ivan Xav hadn’t been there. If Ivan Xav hadn’t decided to _marry_ her right there in his apartment… At every point there had been someone telling her what to do or acting on her behalf.

 

_No more!_

 

It was time to act for herself. For herself and for Ivan Xav. For her own. But what could she do? First thing was to get more information. She went to the comconsole and started calling up officers she’d met through her husband. Did any of them know anything? Could any of them do anything? She was met with sympathy and lots of reasons why it would be best for her to wait and see what happened. More attempts with diplomatic personnel she knew were met with similar results. In frustration she left the apartment and walked around the diplomatic compound to blow off steam. She saw a few people she knew or had met at parties, but they didn’t speak. Some of them had bodyguards trailing them. Hired muscle? _That_ was a concept she was familiar with! That was the way things were done on the Whole. She did have some money. Could she _hire_ someone to help her find Ivan Xav? But who? Locals might be the best bet, but she didn’t know any of the locals except for a few people with the revolutionary government and she knew they weren’t to be trusted. Back on the Whole there were people you could hire for this sort of job, but here…? Where did you find guns for hire on Novo Paveo? _Guns for hire._ A thought struck her and she turned and hurried back to her apartment, back to her comconsole.

 

Getting through to the person she wanted was not easy, but she kept at it, working her way through one obstruction after another. Finally the screen lit up and the face of a puzzled man in a light gray uniform looked out at her from the comconsole. “ _DFMS Ariel_ , communications. Uh, can I help you, miss?”

 

“Yes! I want to talk to Admiral Quinn! Right now!”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Alby rubbed his burning eyes and went back to staring at his comconsole screens. He had no idea what time it was or how long he’d been working. Late. Hours. Days. It didn’t matter. He had to find Anny. Had to. Never in his life had he felt so driven. It had been four days since Anny had been captured. The Regiment had torn the town of Milagres apart looking for her and found nothing. Well, that wasn’t true: they had found some things. They found a number of tunnels that did not show up on any map of the city’s underground utilities. Some were long deserted, while a few others showed signs of recent occupation. And they’d found a pile of ashes that had been tentatively identified as the remains of the clothing worn by Anny, Ivan Vorpatril, and the two civilians. While it was entirely understandable from a tactical perspective, the thought of Anny’s captors stripping her naked filled Alby with an unaccustomed rage. _Someone’s gonna pay for this!_

 

But just how to make them pay was eluding Alby. They had clearly gotten her out of the town and he thought he had a good idea how. His screen was displaying an image taken from orbit which showed the Milagres harbor area. It had been taken about an hour after the kidnapping, just as the tide was starting to go out. The fishing fleet was riding the waters out just as it did every day. A few dozen boats of various sizes were swept out to sea by the vicious tidal flow. _All except that one._ One of the boats steered a bit too close to the small pillar of rock that sat in the middle of the harbor. The locals called it _Pedaco_ , which just meant ‘lump’, and there was nothing there as far as anyone knew. _As far as_ we _knew!_ But that one boat went aground on Pedaco that day. And it was not an unprecedented event. Alby had checked back months and it did happen from time to time. But he was starting to suspect that something other than poor seamanship was involved!

 

The orbital image wasn’t specifically focused in on anything so unfortunately the resolution of the boat and its occupants wasn’t very good. But people could be seen getting off the boat and scurrying around on the small island. It was very hard to sort out, but it did not appear that as many people got back on the boat as had gotten off, when the tide came back in to float them off again. Could Anny and the others have been left on that rock? Or in that rock? Could there be caves or tunnels there, too?

 

But what about all those other boats? She might have been on one of them, instead. Getting another cup of coffee, Alby started to check out each and every one of them. It was well after dawn before he was through. As far as he could tell from the grainy images, all of the other boats had had a normal day of fishing. None of them had rendezvoused with other vessels or transferred passengers. At least not with any surface vessels; what about submarines? That thought left Alby frustrated. A well-stealthed submersible would be undetectable by the orbital sensors. If that was what had happened, then he’d reached a dead end.

 

_No! It’s that damn lump of rock, I know it!_

 

He thought back to the battle in the town when they’d first come to Tamborete. _The EnBees were trying to break through Anny’s company to get to the water! Why?_ It had made no sense. But if there was some sort of refuge on that rock…

 

He assembled his data into a presentation of sorts and went to Captain Hopkins. “Up all night again, Alby?” asked his boss. “You look terrible.”

 

“Thanks. I think I’ve got something, sir.”

 

“Really? That would be welcome! No one else is finding anything, that’s for sure! What have you got?”

 

Alby showed him and was gratified when Hopkins immediately grew excited. Hopkins was no genius, but he had the ability to actually listen to people, which made him worth his weight in gold in Alby’s experience. “Great work, Alby!” he exclaimed. “Let’s show this to the Colonel!”

 

They found Fetherbay and in an amazingly short time an operation was being planned to investigate the island. A company in battle armor, accompanied by a sapper squad with sensors would swarm the island in a lightning strike. Hopefully if Anny and Vorpatril were there, they could be freed before the enemy knew what hit them. _Before they could kill them…_ It was damn risky, but Alby couldn’t see any other option.

 

Within an hour, the strike was assembled and dispatched, which was very fast work. Alby and the whole regimental staff and a few men from BEF HQ and that ImpSec colonel all watched it unfold from the situation room. The assault shuttles swooped down on the island and disgorged their troops. In a matter of minutes the lump was occupied. They found the cave entrance shortly after that and the troopers stormed into it, the cameras on their armor letting the observers go along.

 

It quickly became apparent that while the cave entrance may have been natural, that what lay further in was not. A passageway with stairs led down…

 

…but not very far.

 

After twenty or thirty meters, the passage was completely blocked by fallen stone. The sappers’ sensors showed that the blockage was complete and that no open areas lay below as far as their sensors could reach. An engineering officer accompanying the force was of the opinion that the rock fall was very recent, probably just a few days old.

 

A sigh of disappointment seemed to sweep through the situation room. Another dead end. “But it’s pretty clear that someone _was_ there,” said Fetherbay. “And probably right around the time that Payne and Vorpatril were taken. I think we know now how they were gotten out of the town. Well done, Mr. Vorsworth.” He nodded at Alby.

 

“Unfortunately,” said the ImpSec colonel, “we don’t know it the prisoners were then transferred to some submersible vessel or if more tunnels lead away from that rock and they were taken to some underground refuge.”

 

“We’ll have the engineers take some deep sensor readings to look for more tunnels,” said Major Danilov.

 

“And check for any suspicious vessels in the region,” suggested someone else.

 

More suggestions and orders followed, but it was clear that they were all grasping at straws. So far the enemy had been two steps ahead of them at every turn. It was too much to hope that they would screw up now. Alby and Hopkins headed back to their office, Alby yawning prodigiously. “Get some sleep, Alby,” said Hopkins. “That’s an order.”

 

Unable to think of anything better, he did as he was told. But six hours of sleep, a shower and a meal didn’t make him feel much better. Damn, there had to be something more he could do! He went back to his desk and started going through his files. Those old traffic control logs that Izabella had gotten him had been yielding some interesting data before this whole mess had interrupted. Maybe he should go back to them…

 

But he’d only been at it a few minutes when the comconsole pinged with an incoming message. He looked at the caller ID and his eyebrows rose. _What the hell?_ He hit the accept key and the screen filled with the face of a very attractive woman in a military uniform. “Lieutenant Vorsworth, here,” he said. “Can… can I help you?”

 

“I hope so, Lieutenant. I’m Admiral Quinn of the Dendarii Free Mercenaries. We have a mutual acquaintance who has approached me for help.” The screen spilt and Alby saw another attractive female face. This was one he recognized.

 

“Lady Vorpatril?”

 

“Hello, Lieutenant. My husband used to work for your father and I was hoping… I was hoping that…”

 

“What Lady Vorpatril means,” said Quinn, interrupting, “is that you and she have parallel goals. And all three of us have parallel needs. What she needs is more resources. What you need is more information. And what I need is some reliable people dirtside. I’ve done some checking on you, lieutenant, and it appears that you are something of an Intel _wunderkind_. I’ve got some damn good people working for me, too.” Quinn looked at him with an odd smile.

 

“I propose that we join forces.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“So how long do you think we’ve been here?” Ivan looked at Anny Payne and scratched at his growing beard. “At least a week if my whiskers are to be believed.”

 

“About that, I’d think, sir,” answered Payne very slowly. “They’ve fed us sixteen times. I guess we were unconscious for close to a day before that. So yes, maybe a week.” They were both speaking Russian in the probably vain hope that their listening captors wouldn’t be able to decipher it. Payne’s Russian was pretty rusty, Ivan’s was somewhat better.

 

“Pretty damn boring being cooped up in here. What the hell do these people want, anyway?” Aside from the meals that arrived from time to time, there had been no contact with their captors.

 

“I want to go home!” whined Paulo. The kid had shown remarkable patience considering the circumstances, but it was clearly wearing thin. _Well, so’s mine!_ Payne went and sat next to the boy and tried to distract him from their troubles, but there really wasn’t anything to do. They’d fashioned a checkers board and pieces out of their rations packs, but they were all pretty much checkered out at the moment. Word games, story-telling (Ivan’s stories that were fit for children were somewhat limited), they’d done it all. They were all getting grouchy and irritable. And a bit smelly. A week without a shower was starting to tell. They did have the sink and a bar of soap…

 

“You know if we stood one of the bed frames on end and draped the blankets, we could set up a sort of shower stall next to the sink. Even a sponge bath would be welcome right now.”

 

Payne looked skeptical. “There’s no drain in the floor, sir. All the water would sit there and as damp as it is in here already, it probably wouldn’t dry for a long time.”

 

“True,” said Ivan, giving up on the idea in disappointment. Well, after another week she might think differently. Another week. Bah. He lay down on his bunk. _Damn, I miss Tej!_ There was a time when Ivan wouldn’t have minded being in such close quarters with a very attractive woman like Anny Payne, but marriage had changed him in a lot of ways. He wasn’t even tempted. Not that they could really do much with the kid and the inevitable watchers that must be out there. He’d looked around for hidden vid pickups, but hadn’t found any. But he was certain they were there.

 

He had nearly dozed off when a sound at the door had all three of them on their feet and wide awake. Someone coming at last? The lock clicked and the door swung open. Ivan hadn’t really expected it to be a rescue party, but he was still disappointed when he saw that it was a group of EnBee soldiers. Not rescuers and apparently not the renegade insurgents, either. So it had all been a fake. Some of the EnBees held stunners, two had shock sticks, and two had plasma arcs. _Not taking any chances. They must think we’re pretty dangerous!_ “Come on,” said the leader. “You two. The kid stays here.” He tossed them pairs of soft slippers which Ivan gratefully put on his bare feet.

 

“Paulo, you have to stay here,” said Payne. “We’ll be back soon.”

 

“Anny! I want to stay with you!”

 

“I’ll keep him company,” said another voice. Ivan looked and saw that Da Silva was there, behind the soldiers. She stood aside while Ivan and Anny moved past. Ivan glared at her, but she met his eyes and glared back just as venomously. In that instant, he realized that the woman wasn’t some innocent victim that had been forced to participate in the abduction against her will. _She’s one of them!_ He and Payne had speculated about it when the boy was asleep. Payne didn’t want to believe that she’d been completely duped by the woman, but Ivan had no doubt now.

 

Finally out of their cell, they discovered that beyond it lay a long corridor which looked to have been cut from solid rock just like their cell. Glow bulbs were stuck to the ceiling at intervals and other, similar, doors were set in the wall every dozen meters or so. More prisoners? The corridor went on and on with other corridors intersecting at times. They went up several sets of steps into another corridor that was better lit and more heavily travelled. Ivan glimpsed large chambers and smaller offices down side corridors inhabited by hundreds of people. He exchanged glances with Payne. This was clearly a major base and it was a bit alarming that they were being allowed to see so much of it. Whatever their captors wanted them for it wasn’t going to be ‘catch-and-release’. They already knew way too much for that.

 

Eventually they reached a door that had two sentries outside. They were ushered through into what was clearly the reception room for an office of somebody important. Wood paneling covered the stone walls and there was carpet on the floor. Pictures hung on the walls and fine furniture graced the room. A rather decorative young woman sat behind the desk.

 

“Ah yes,” she said with a smile that wasn’t the least bit friendly. “Lord Vorpatril, Lieutenant Payne, the Most Excellent Marques will see you shortly. In the meantime, perhaps you would like to freshen up a bit. The capitao will see to your needs.”

 

They were ushered out again and down another corridor and then into a sort of locker room space with showers. Ivan glanced awkwardly at Anny, but she just shrugged in reply and started taking off her coveralls. About a third of the EnBees escorting them were women and apparently their facilities were all unisex, so there was nothing for it. He tried not to stare as they showered, but Payne surely was a fine looking woman. When they finished, they were given clean coveralls and they put their same slippers back on. This had clearly been an attempt to intimidate them, but it was still nice to be clean. Sadly no depilatory had been supplied so he was stuck with his scruffy beard.

 

Then it was back to the splendid office where they were allowed to sit and even offered coffee, which was remarkably good. They were otherwise ignored for a good half-hour but finally the door to the inner office opened and they were escorted inside. Behind an enormous polished wood desk sat a narrow-faced man with shiny black hair, mustache and small imperial. He was wearing a uniform that had the cut and fabric of the fatigues the soldiers were wearing, but with all manner of decorations and elaborate braid added. To Ivan it looked very odd, but he knew that the Nuevo Brasilians were probably only second to the Cetagandans when it came to personal vanity. The man regarded them with calculating eyes for a few moments and then waved them to a pair of chairs.

 

“Lord Vorpatril, Lieutenant Payne,” he said in good English, “I am General Caldeira Felisberto Brant Pontes de Oliveira, Marques de Barbajena. I will not welcome you, because you are most definitely _not_ welcome here. You and all the other galactic scum that have followed are interlopers, trespassers in affairs that are none of your business! You fear Nuevo Brasilia’s greatness. You conspire to deny us our rightful place in the galaxy! What gives you the right to do this?”

 

Ivan didn’t think the man actually wanted an answer so he said nothing.

 

“You have no right!” snarled the EnBee general, answering his own question. “And you will soon learn the error of your ways!” He went on for a good five minutes extolling the glories of Nuevo Brasilia and the inequities of the Alliance members. Eventually he ran out of steam and glared at them in silence. “I should have you shot,” he added after a moment.

 

“Considering all the effort you went to to get us here, that would seem an awful waste,” said Ivan. He didn’t have a clue what to call the man; the title he’d poured out had been almost incomprehensible. General? Marques? That would be about the equivalent of a count on Barrayar he guessed. Someone pretty important it seemed.

 

“Yes,” said the man. “You do have a role in what is to come: the removal of all you invaders.”

 

“Uh, if you’ve done any research you must realize that trying to use us as hostages will get you nothing. The Barrayaran Expeditionary Force is not going to leave no matter what you threaten to do to us.” Was that really a good thing to tell him?

 

The man snorted. “You flatter yourself, Lord Vorpatril, if you think we place that sort of value on you! No, acquiring you and the lieutenant was just a bit of good fortune, an opportunity that we took advantage of. No, you are just icing on the cake.” He paused and eyed them with an unsettling smile. “Would you like to see the cake, my lord?”

 

Ivan glanced at Payne, who just shrugged warily. The general was clearly just dying to show them his ‘cake’. So why not? “If you wish, general.”

 

“Excellent. You will come with me.” He got up from his desk. Ivan and Anny rose and were immediately surrounded by the escort. Back into another corridor which made several turns and then ended at a large set of metal double doors. Sentries stood there and they immediately stepped aside and opened the doors at the approach of the general.

 

Beyond was a balcony that looked out onto an enormous open space. It was circular, with walls that curved up to a roof that was far overhead, studded with powerful lights. The far side looked to be at least a couple of kilometers away. Ivan gaped. The only things he’d ever seen remotely like this were the domes on Komarr. This wasn’t as big as the one covering Solstice, but it was at least as big as some of the smaller ones there. The floor was crowded with stacks of crates and row after row of military vehicles and guns. Hundreds of troops swarmed over them.

 

“At least brigade strength,” whispered Anny from beside him.

 

“Jackpot,” he whispered back. The Alliance had known the EnBees had secret underground bases on the planet, they’d even found a few of them, but Ivan didn’t think anyone expected there to be anything like this!

 

“Impressive is it not?” asked the general. “While you fools have been chasing phantoms all over Novo Paveo, we have been assembling this! Your fleets are now far away, diverted by our own navy, and your armies are scattered. The capital of Araxa lies virtually undefended. In a very short time, this force will have re-occupied the city. Then, with it, and the two of you, and hopefully some other important prisoners in our hands, then, your miserable alliance will see the hopelessness of your situation, the utter folly of continuing this war, and they will withdraw.” He nodded at them. “And if your people show wisdom, you might even see your homes again someday.”

 

“You’ll have to get past the 61st,” said Payne defiantly.

 

“Ah yes. I’ll admit that the arrival of your regiment here so unexpectedly was a bit of a bother. But since now they, too, are dispersed hither and yon—looking for the two of you!—they won’t prove much of an obstacle.”

 

Ivan stared at the force in front of him. Could that really happen? It was true that most of the troops that had once been near the capital were now dispersed. _And Tej is there…_ But wait… “Only some of our fleet is at the wormhole, general. There are still plenty of the smaller warships still in orbit. Enough to blast this force to atoms long before it can reach Araxa.”

 

The general smirked. “You think so? Well think again. Come this way.” There was a walkway that led from the balcony and appeared to go clear around the huge space. They followed the general for quite a ways and saw ahead that there was a mass of scaffolding and gantries and cranes surrounding something very large. They got closer but Ivan still wasn’t sure what he was looking at. It was like a flattened hemisphere in general shape, probably two hundred meters across at its widest. All manner of projections studded its surface and it was sitting on top of two enormous sets of caterpillar tracks. Workers were climbing all over it and cranes were lowering large objects down through open access panels. The eye-searing glare of welders came from a dozen spots on its surface and the stink of burned metal filled the air. The general pointed at it. “A few more days and it will be ready.”

 

“What the hell is it?” asked Ivan.

 

The general looked at them and smiled. “Lieutenant Payne knows, don’t you, Lieutenant? I can see it in your face. Perhaps you can it explain it to Lord Vorpatril.”

 

Ivan looked at Payne, but the woman was just staring at the thing with wide eyes.

 

“Oh my God,” she whispered.

 

 

**Chapter 25**

 

“So what was that thing?” demanded Ivan Vorpatril, once they had been returned to their cell.

 

Anny glanced at the door through which Ines Da Silva had just left after a short but heated exchange. _She really is one of them. How could I have been so stupid?_ She glanced back at Paulo, who was huddled in the corner. What had Da Silva said to him while they were gone? The poor kid had been lied to so many times he probably didn’t know which end was up.

 

“Anny?” prompted Vorpatril.

 

“Oh. Well, I’m guessing that it’s an MPDC, sir: a Mobile Planetary Defense Center.”

 

Vorpatril frowned. “And that is…? I can’t recall ever discussing anything like that during all my years in Ops.”

 

“Not surprising, sir. It’s not something Barrayar has ever considered using. The only reason I know anything is because of a course I took in my junior year at the Academy about the theory of planetary assault and defense. The instructor was very thorough.”

 

“So it some sort of huge war machine then? For defending a planet against an attack from space?”

 

“Yes, sir. But this is all theoretical; there has never been an all-out assault on a major planet in the history of the nexus.”

 

“We tried to take Escobar…”

 

“Yes, sir, but despite Escobar’s importance in our neighborhood, it’s not really considered a major planet in military terms. I’m talking about worlds like Earth, Eta Ceta, and Beta Colony. Long established worlds with major industry and large military potentials.”

 

“Ah, the really big ones.”

 

“Yes, and there are differing theories about how to defend a world. The vast majority of worlds have the same doctrine as Barrayar: the best defense is a strong fleet supplemented by powerful space defenses around the wormhole exits. But there is a competing doctrine—or maybe I should say a complementary doctrine since there’s no reason you can’t do both—which calls for powerful defenses built on the planet itself.”

 

“That would be incredibly expensive,” said Vorpatril. “Even the most powerful weapons only have an effective range of a few hundred kilometers against a well-shielded ship. You’d need hundreds of installations to cover the whole planet!”

 

“Yes sir. That’s why most worlds rely on space-based defenses. Still, ground based defenses do have some advantages. Power plants and vital machinery can be deeply buried with only the weapons mounts above the surface and these can be bigger and better shielded than anything you could put on a ship. Ton for ton and mark for mark, ground defenses can seriously outclass even the largest warships. Attacking defenses like that could be extremely costly. And, having ground defenses means that you aren’t facing capitulation if your fleet is defeated. That’s what happened to the Komarrans once Admiral Vorkosigan took out their space defenses.”

 

“But that thing we saw out there wasn’t all that big! As big as a capital ship, maybe, but not much more.”

 

“Well, that’s where we get into all the theory, sir,” said Anny, trying to remember what she’d learned in that class. “To launch an attack against a really heavily defended world—and we do know that Earth has installations like that and probably Eta Ceta and Beta Colony as well—the best way is to find a weak spot in the coverage, some place where only one or two defense installations can fire at you, and then use your warships to destroy them with orbital fire. You’ll probably lose a half-dozen battleships doing it, but once it’s done, you’ve got a blind spot, a place you can land troops safely. From there, it becomes a land campaign. The invading troops will try to take out more of the defense installations from the ground. As each installation falls, the warships in space can dominate more and more of the surface. Eventually you can take the whole planet that way—at least in theory.”

 

“Where does that thing, that MPDC, come into it? And why the hell do the EnBees have one here?”

 

“That’s the other side of the coin, sir. The defensive side. If an enemy has carved out a beachhead on your planet, how do you drive them off again? Even if you’ve got a big powerful army, how do you attack the invaders beyond the coverage of your remaining planetary defenses? As soon as you get beyond their range, the enemy warships can blast your ground troops from space.”

 

“Ah, so that thing can move along with your ground army and give you coverage against spaceships!” exclaimed Vorpatril.

 

“Yes, sir, exactly. In theory, you’d have multiple such units which would drive back the enemy space ships as your ground forces drove back the enemy armies. It would be warfare on a scale that no one has ever actually seen. All just theory, like I said.”

 

“And so the EnBees propose to drive that thing into Araxa. Do you think they could do it?”

 

Anny shrugged. “Hard to say. I don’t know anything about its actual capabilities. But the whole idea of the MPDC is that they can successfully engage capital ships. Against the cruisers and lighter ships that have been left here… It could probably cut through them like a hot knife through butter. I doubt the commanders of those ships would even try to engage it.”

 

“But when the heavy units we have out at the wormhole hear what’s going on, they’ll come back!”

 

“Yes, sir, but by then the EnBees will have that thing in Araxa. An attack from space against the MPDC would require firepower that would reduce the city to a lake of boiling lava. The whole population could be wiped out. I doubt… I doubt that the Alliance commanders would be willing to do that.”

 

“Damn,” hissed Vorpatril. “You’re probably right. And with a bunch of hostages—like us—they might be forced to negotiate. But if they had that thing, why didn’t they use it before now?”

 

“It looked like it was still under construction. They probably shipped it here in pieces when the troubles started and they’ve been putting it together since then. That general said it was nearly ready.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Of course, once our ground armies can concentrate again, we could take it out from the ground—an MPDC has limited ground combat capability, at least in comparison to its anti-ship weaponry—but the battle would still probably destroy the city. Our best bet…” Anny faltered.

 

“What? What’s our best bet?”

 

“The 61st, sir. Stop that thing before it can get to Araxa. From what the EnBee told us, I’m guessing we are still on Tamborete. They’d have to fight their way through the 61st before they could go on to Araxa”

 

“Could the 61st stop them?”

 

“I… I don’t know, sir. That brigade we saw there, it’s powerful, but it was mostly light armored vehicles, no heavy tanks at all. And a lot of them looked to be personnel carriers; that would indicate infantry not wearing battle armor. The Regiment could hurt them badly—if they were ready. But if they are scattered all over the island as the EnBee general said…” Anny frowned and clenched her fists. Her tactical analysis of the situation was not good. And the guilt she felt about the fact that the Regiment was in even more danger—her friends and comrades were in danger—because they were out looking for her, made it all the worse. “If they were hit without warning, things could get pretty bad. But if they had warning… with warning, we could make the EnBees pay in blood for every meter between here and Araxa!”

 

Vorpatril nodded and then said in Russian: “Then we’re going to have to find some way to warn them.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

“There! Do you see that?” Alby pointed at a comconsole display that showed a large three-dimensional image of Novo Paveo. Thousands of colored lines crisscrossed the planet in an orbital Gordian Knot.

 

“What? I don’t see anything,” said Lieutenant Commander Dars Langsda. The mercenary intel officer had been Alby’s almost constant companion for the last two days. He wasn’t sure who had pulled what strings to get the man down here. Fetherbay and Hopkins certainly knew he was here at 61st HQ, but no one had said a thing about it. The Colonel had even gotten them a space to work, away from everyone else. Alby suspected it was to keep them out of sight of that ImpSec colonel who was still prowling about. ImpSec could be useful, but they had their own agenda and you never knew what it was. _His_ agenda was to get Anny back!

 

“Right there, Dars!” He stabbed his finger into the holo image. “There! And there and there, too, for that matter, but this is the one that counts.” His finger darted around the display and then came back to where it had started: hovering over the island of Tamborete.

 

“There’s nothing there, Alby!”

 

“Exactly! Nothing at all!”

 

Langsda shook his head. “Well, it’s wonderful nothing, Alby, but why should I care?”

 

“Because there shouldn’t be any nothings! Not after fifty years! There could only be nothing if there were something!”

 

“Alby, throttle back a bit and tell me what the hell you’re talking about!”

 

Alby sighed and then took a deep breath. Yeah, sometimes his brain got way ahead of his mouth. “Okay, sorry. But look, we’ve got orbital traffic control data stretching back almost fifty years, right back to when the planet was first settled. That’s what all these colored lines show. Every cargo carrier, colony ship, shuttle or barge that’s ever landed on the planet. We’ve got high density areas like around Araxa and the other large towns, as you’d expect,” he pointed to spots where the lines were so dense you couldn’t see through them. “But even the less densely populated areas still get traffic from time to time, even these tiny islands which only have villages.”

 

“With all these thousands of islands, shuttles would be the best way to get around,” nodded Langsda.

 

“But look at Tamborete! There’s almost nothing! A few landings in Milagres over the years, but nothing in proportion to its population. If it got just average traffic, there should still be hundreds of landings, but there’s only a handful.”

 

“So you’re suggesting…?”

 

“The data was erased! Or never recorded. A high security zone where traffic officially doesn’t exist! There are six other areas like that on the planet—including that place where the Cetagandans found the big underground base!”

 

Langsda was silent for a long moment but then slowly began to nod. “So you think there is a major base here, on Tamborete?”

 

“Yes! We know the EnBees were setting this place up as a major military outpost for future conquests. But they wanted to keep the scale of it a secret. So they had a few minor military installations out in the open, like you’d expect to find on any planet for self-defense. But the major bases, the real bases, they wanted to keep secret. So any ships landing at them, the ones bringing in the construction equipment and supplies, those would be classified. They wouldn’t want any records of hundreds of ships landing in out-of-the-way spots because it would be too suspicious. But they never thought about what the _lack_ of those records might show over a long time. Here look.” He manipulated the controls and the majority of the colored lines vanished. “If we just break this down into five year segments, the missing flights are hardly noticeable. But fifty years all at once…”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I see it now,” said Langsda. “But the EnBees probably never looked at it like this. Damn fine work, Alby.”

 

“Thanks,” said Alby. But then he frowned. “So this is good, but what, exactly, does it get us?”

 

“Well, it gives us good leads to finding all of their major bases on the planet, which is an amazing stroke right there. But as for finding Vorpatril and Payne… well, I think we can assume that they are still here on Tamborete. Whatever the EnBees want them for, there wouldn’t be much point in shipping them anywhere else if they’ve got a big base here already. They would have to at least consider the possibility that we’ve got some means to track them and why endanger a second base if they didn’t have to?”

 

“True. Good point. So they are here, somewhere on this island. But where? We’ve searched the town with a fine-toothed comb. And our sappers have done seismic scans of over half of the rest of the island. They’re doing more right now.”

 

Langsda shook his head. “Seismic scans can be beaten with the right equipment, Alby. It’s expensive so you’d probably not bother for small installations. But for something big… I wouldn’t trust the reports your sappers have produced. No offense.”

 

“None taken. We’ve been learning the hard way that the EnBees have put a lot of effort into this operation. So what do we do?”

 

Langsda scratched at his ear. “Well, there is another technique: gravitic scanning. A ship in orbit can make multiple passes over a region and by comparing the tiny variations in the gravitational pull it receives, it’s possible to build up an image of the underground structure. Less dense rock—or voids—will show up. Even that can be beaten by using anti-grav equipment, but only for small areas. The energy expenditure to mask a large base would be too big for normal shielding to hide.”

 

“Do any of the Dendarii ships have the equipment to do that?” asked Alby. He was pretty certain the Barrayaran ships still in orbit did not.

 

“I’ll check, but I think so. The Dendarii specialize in rescue operations and good data is the key. Give me a minute.” He went to use his own secure communications.

 

Alby leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. He was exhausted and only kept going thanks to coffee and other stimulants. But they were making progress! He felt really pleased with what he’d accomplished. If there were really bases in all those locations then they stood the chance of giving the EnBees a real bloody nose. _But that won’t necessarily get Anny back._ He felt a little guilty that he was making the rescue of his friend a higher priority than winning the war—but only a little. Rescuing Anny would surely help win the war, too!

 

Langsda returned and said: “They’ll get on it right away. But they warned that anything they come up with won’t show much detail.”

 

“Better than nothing.” He turned back to his comconsole and brought up a detailed image of the island of Tamborete. After all this time, he knew the place like the back of his hand. _But we need more information on what’s beneath the surface!_ Where could they find such information? Would any detailed studies have been done in the past? There must have been something; the EnBees wouldn’t have built a base here without some sort of preliminary studies to go on. But where…?

 

An idea struck him and he started typing. The planetary information network had been badly damaged during the civil war, but it had been partially repaired in recent months. He wasn’t surprised or disappointed when he wasn’t able to get all the way through to where he wanted to go. But he’d managed to verify that what he wanted at least existed. But he couldn’t get in electronically. _Go there in person?_ Tempting, but he didn’t want to leave his post and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to accomplish what was needed even if he did go. _I’ve got a team now,_ he reminded himself. _Make use of it!_ He typed in a new combination and almost immediately Lady Vorpatril appeared on the screen.

 

“Lieutenant Vorsworth?” she said breathlessly. “Have you found something?”

 

“We are making some significant progress, my lady. But I was wondering if you could help me out?”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Tej looked at the entrance to the imposing, classical-style building and then started up the steps. The deeply engraved letters on the pediment almost said ‘Geology’. Almost, because the last two letters had been melted away; by a plasma arc, she assumed. The University of Araxa had been spared the worst of the fighting during the civil war, but not spared entirely. Several of the administration buildings were just piles of rubble even now. Fortunately, the geology department hadn’t offended anyone enough to bring destruction down on it.

 

There were no guards here, although there had been some at the main university gates. Her diplomatic ID had gotten her through with no real trouble, and the escort that Admiral Quinn had loaned her had probably helped the gate guard to make up his mind, too. The fellow had seemed rather surprised. The doors to the building swung open easily, revealing a cool and stately entrance lobby with marble columns and strange lumps of rock standing on pedestals all around the perimeter. There was no one at all around; the whole campus had seemed almost deserted. Did they still even hold classes? She found a directory on the wall and after a few moments of searching found her quarry on the third floor.

 

The lifts were not working so she and her escort took the stairs. When they reached the third floor, they turned down a long hallway and eventually found the room number listed on the directory. But the door was locked. She knocked, but there was no answer. Damn. She had deliberately not called ahead, thinking that a surprise appearance might yield more results than allowing them to know she was coming in advance. So much for that approach. She’d have to call and try and set up an appointment. But time was so short! She banged on the door one more time before turning away in frustration.

 

“Dr. Timpora isn’t in on Thursdays,” said a voice. “Can I help you with something, senhorita?”

 

She looked down the hall; a man had emerged from one of the other doors. He was elderly, with a thick mustache and chin beard, streaked with gray, and almost no hair on his head at all. He wore an archaic set of glasses and a white lab coat. He smiled at her.

 

“Oh,” said Tej. “It would be wonderful if you could help me, Mr…?”

 

“Henri. Abel Henri. And you are?”

 

“Tejaswini Arqua, but you can call me Tej, Mr. Henri. It’s easier.” She smiled back at him.

 

“Indeed. You’re from off-world?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“You speak our language very well, Tej.”

 

“Thank you. I studied it on the way here.”

 

“Not many would make the effort. Most rely on those translators.” He glanced at her escort, but when she made no move to introduce him, Henri looked back at her. “How can I help you?”

 

“I was looking for some information on the geology of Novo Paveo. I was hoping you might have some.”

 

Henri laughed. “Well, yes, that is what we do here. But what would you need with that?”

 

“Call it a hobby. I was looking for some detailed information on the island of Tamborete. It’s an island about a hundred kilometers from…”

 

“I know where it is.” The man’s smile had faded and he looked at her suspiciously. “But why are you interested in that place?”

 

“Just a hobby, as I said. Do you have any information, please?” She smiled and stepped closer. She’d worn a fairly daring outfit in hopes that it might prove useful. “I’d be so grateful if you could help me, Mr. Henri. Or are you Professor Henri? Or Doctor Henri?”

 

The man snorted. “No, just Abel Henri. No professor or doctor for me!”

 

“What is it you do here, Mr. Henri?”

 

“Oh everything, I suppose. All the things that everyone needs but no one else wants to do. Been here almost forty years; right from the beginning.”

 

“That sounds terribly important. You must know where _everything_ is!”

 

“It is important—but none of those high and mighty doctors and professors will admit it, of course. None of them could accomplish a damn thing without me.” The man’s annoyance was clear in his voice. “But what did you want again?”

 

“Geological information on Tamborete. As much as you have. You do have information, don’t you, Mr. Henri?”

 

“Oh, I’m sure I’ve got something. Come with me.” He led them through the door he’d first come out of, into a small cluttered office, but then he went on, through another door, into a dimly lit room that was much larger and piled to the ceiling with files, boxes and all manner of other things that Tej couldn’t begin to identify.

 

“Of course, I could have been a doctor if I’d really wanted to,” Henri continued, as he walked. “I was in the doctoral program when I came here, under old Pistore. But I liked the field work more than the damn paper writing. Just never got around to finishing up. Never really regretted it, except when these young snots with the letters after their names think they’re so damn smart. Bah! Twits couldn’t find their asses with both hands if I wasn’t here to help them. Begging your pardon.” He stopped in front of a bank of metal cabinets with lots and lots of drawers. “What were you looking for again?”

 

“Tamborete.”

 

“Oh yes. Let me see…” He walked down the row a few meters and then pulled open a drawer, which was very wide and very deep, but only eight or ten centimeters high. To Tej’s amazement, it was filled with enormous flimsies, actual printed documents.

 

“Don’t you have electronic files?” she asked.

 

“What? Oh, not for the detailed surveys. The government confiscated all of that years and years ago. Security, they said. Bah, security for what? But they never knew we had these. Old Pistore insisted on paper back-ups for everything. He was kind of old-fashioned, but in this case he was right. I remember how annoyed I was when he gave me the job of printing all these out! Took close to a year. Couldn’t see the sense of it at the time, but he was right. Barely got it all done before those idiots came and purged the electronic files. Heh. All right, Tamborete, you say.” He pulled out a dozen sheets and then looked vainly for somewhere to lay them out. “Need to clean this place up,” he muttered.

 

“Why didn’t you just scan these all back into electronic formats?” asked the Dendarii escort, speaking for the first time.

 

“No one ever said they wanted it done,” shrugged Henri. “And I’ve got too damn much work as it is without making more for myself. Come on, we can use the conference room.” They went back out into the hallway and down a few doors to a very typical conference room. The large table allowed them to spread out the flimsies. Tej looked them over and recognized the outline of Tamborete, but the information on them didn’t mean anything to her.

 

“Can I take scans of these, Mr. Henri?” She glanced at the Dendarii, who nodded. If the answer was _no_ , then Mr. Henri was going to be taking a little nap. But the man just shrugged.

 

“Suit yourself.”

 

“Thank you.” One by one they laid out the sheets and recorded them with their computer pads. They both did it, taking no chances that they’d miss something. It only took a few minutes and Tej sighed in satisfaction. They’d done it! She’d done it! “Thank you, Mr. Henry,” she said again. “These will be very helpful.”

 

“I hope so,” he replied. “But now you can do something for me in repayment.”

 

“Uh, what?” she asked uneasily.

 

“Tell me why you _really_ want these?” Tej stiffened and the Dendarii was on full alert. “Hobby? Don’t make me laugh!”

 

What to say? Just stun the man and leave? She was quite sure that is what her guard wanted to do. But the man had been so kind… “Yes, you are right,” she said. “The truth is that a… friend of mine likes to explore caves. He went exploring on Tamborete a few days ago and we haven’t heard anything from him since. We’re afraid he’s gotten himself lost and I was hoping that these might help us find him.”

 

Henri looked very thoughtful. “Caves, eh? Well, there are a lot of them on Tamborete.” He pulled out one of the sheets. “There’s a large, empty magma chamber under the dormant volcano on the north side of the island.” He pointed to a spot on the sheet. “And there are dozens of old lava tubes running all over the place.” His finger traces along a number of pathways. “You might try checking there.” He looked into her eyes. “Good luck, senhorita.”

 

Tej smiled and then leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you, Mr. Henri.”

 

They said good-bye and quickly left the building. “Okay,” she said. “Let’s get this to Alby right away!”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Jer Naddel slumped down into the chair in the mess hall with a groan. He was exhausted after another day of searching. Searching for the enemy base. Searching for Anny. His frustration, the frustration of everyone, was growing day by day. Looking at a map of the island and knowing that they had over five thousand, troopers, militia, sappers, and various other people involved in the search, it was easy to wonder why they hadn’t found anything. But when you actually got out there, you quickly realized just how big the island was. A couple of thousand square kilometers and it was incredible just how many hiding places there were in each and every one of them.

 

And nearly all of the searchers’ efforts were completely pointless anyway. Only a limited number of them had the sophisticated sensors needed to look beneath the surface. Everyone else was just beating the bushes in the absurd hope of finding a door with a _Secret Base Entrance_ sign hanging on it. Or Anny and Vorpatril tied up in the closet of some farmer’s shack out in the forest. Nothing like that had happened, of course.

 

But they weren’t about to give up. _He_ certainly wasn’t anyway. Alby had called him a few times with _keep your chin up!_ encouragements and the more useful news that he was making some progress from his end and that he was sure that Anny was still somewhere on the island.

 

So every day he went out again and searched. They _would_ find her! No other outcome was acceptable.

 

He forced himself to eat, even though the food seemed utterly tasteless. Had to keep his energy up. He finished and took his tray back.

 

“Hey Naddel!” said a familiar voice. “Don’t look so glum. We’ll get your tail back for you! But why worry? You’ve got frills to choose from with that militia company of yours!”

 

Jer had gotten used to Vorkerkas’ needling over the months and he never let it get to him, but this time he nearly lost it. He dropped his tray and turned with fists clenched and a fury building up inside him.

 

But to his astonishment, one of the other officers sitting with Vorkerkas, one of his usual buddies, suddenly stood up, looking nearly as angry as Jer felt. “Adrien! For once in your life, will you keep your stupid mouth _shut_?”

 

Vorkerkas looked stunned. “What’s the matter with you?” he demanded.

 

“What’s the matter with me? What hell is the matter with _you_? Like it or not, Payne is one of us! A member of the Regiment! And the Regiment takes care of its own—always! And if you can’t handle that, then maybe you should put in for a transfer!” The man turned and stalked away.

 

“Yeah, give it a rest, would you?” said Ensign Vorledge, getting up from the table. He walked past Jer and slapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Naddel, we’ll find her.”

 

In a moment, Vorkerkas was alone at his table, utterly gobsmacked.

 

Jet picked up his tray, put it where it belonged, and left the mess hall, a smile on his face, despite his worries.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“You didn’t need to bring these here yourself, Lady Vorpatril,” said Alby. The woman had arrived with only a few minutes warning and now she was in Alby’s little Intel center with Lieutenant Commander Langsda and another mercenary, who had escorted her.

 

“I just… I just wanted to be here,” she said. “I couldn’t stand the thought of going home and having to sit and wait anymore. Here, it’s all on here.” She proffered her computer tablet and Alby took it.

 

“I can understand that, my lady, and thank you. So, have a seat. We’ve got about ten liters of coffee over there if you want some. Now, let’s see what you’ve brought us.”

 

“The images aren’t the best,” she said. “We had to scan these huge flimsies they had.”

 

Alby hooked into the compad and transferred the files to his own computer and then put the images up on a big display screen. “Not too bad, but, huh, maybe we should have asked you to bring a geologist back, too. Not sure what all these notations and symbols mean.”

 

“There’s a key down in the corner,” said Langsda, pointing.

 

“The man we talked to said that these were lava tunnels,” said Vorpatril. She got up and traced a finger over some lines on the map.

 

“Okay, I see it now,” said Alby, looking back and forth between the key and the areas Lady Vorpatril was pointing. “Wow, they go all over the place, don’t they?” He looked closer. “Damn, there’s one connected to that lump in the harbor! I bet the remains we found there weren’t just some sort of small refuge! It was the end of a transport system!”

 

“Where does it lead?” asked Langsda.

 

“It leads back this way, toward Tamborete, and then… toward the extinct volcano!”

 

“A base under the volcano?” said Langsda, grinning. “How theatrical.”

 

“If I’m reading this correctly,” said Alby, switching images to one that showed the volcano in more detail, “there is a big empty magma chamber under it. The EnBees could have built a base down there without a lot of excavation!”

 

“The gravitic survey we did indicated the possibility of a void in that area,” said Langsda, nodding. “But it couldn’t give us anything like this level of detail. But it certainly looks as though we’ve found something, Alby. Between this and the traffic analysis you did, I’d bet Betan dollars that there’s a base down there.”

 

“And you think Ivan Xav is there?” asked Lady Vorpatril anxiously.

 

“I think there’s a very good chance of it,” said Alby. “The EnBees grab Lord Vorpatril and Anny at the school, take them through the utility tunnels under Milagres to the harbor. Put them on a boat that takes them to the lump. From there, they go down until they get to the lava tube and that takes them to the volcano!”

 

“And they destroy the entrance on the lump to prevent us from following,” said Langsda. “Clever. But there’s one thing: that secret way of getting about in the tube and the entrance on the lump must have been pretty useful to them. To lose it in order to snatch Vorpatril and Payne…”

 

“What?”

 

“They must put a pretty high value on those two. But I’m still not sure what that is, considering Barrayar’s policy towards hostages.”

 

“But if they are there, can we get them back?” demanded Lady Vorpatril. “You can go get them, right?”

 

“We are certainly going to try!” said Alby. “I guess we need to get this information to the Colonel and…”

 

“Alby, wait,” said Langsda.

 

“Why?”

 

“Well, I understand that your duty would demand you to report this, but _my_ mission is to recover Lord Vorpatril—and Lieutenant Payne—and I’m afraid that if you send this up the chain of command, it could well result in a major assault on that base.”

 

“Yeah…?”

 

“And in such an attack I would calculate the odds of survival for the prisoners to be… not so good. Sorry to have to say it, my lady, but there it is. A base that size could have hundreds of enemy soldiers in it and sophisticated defenses. If your troopers just blasted their way in, there’s no telling how the EnBees would react.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I can see that,” said Alby, the nightmare image of Anny being gunned down by some EnBee die-hard flickered in his mind. “So what do we do?”

 

“The Dendarii specialize in just this sort of mission—although I can’t recall anything quite like this. What we need to do is insert a small team to rescue the prisoners before any attack takes place.”

 

“But…”

 

“Let’s take a closer look at these charts. There might be other ways into that place.”

 

“We can’t know what sort of changes the EnBees may have made to the layout!” protested Alby.

 

“True, but let’s take a look anyway, why don’t we?”

 

Alby wasn’t happy with the delay, but he reluctantly agreed. Lady Vorpatril wasn’t happy, either, but Langsda’s warning about what could happen with a hastily planned assault won her over to his side. They spent the next few hours going over the geologic drawings. The magma chamber was sealed off and well beneath the cone of the volcano so there was no way in that way. They did locate several other lava tunnels leading from the extinct volcano but they seemed to terminate under the ocean. No other obvious entrances were found. At this point, Langsda insisted on bringing Admiral Quinn into the loop. The mercenary admiral appeared almost immediately on the screen when they called her flagship. They spent the next half-hour bringing her up to date on what they’d found.

 

“Excellent work, both of you—all three of you, actually; that was nicely done, too, Lady Vorpatril.”

 

“But can you get your people in there and find Ivan Xav?” demanded Vorpatril.

 

“It looks like an insertion from the sea might be the most promising, ma’am,” said Langsda. “If we could get people into either of these two lava tubes, they ought to be able to get inside—assuming they haven’t been sealed.”

 

“Our troopers in their battle armor can operate underwater very well,” said Alby.

 

“But their power emission would give them away as soon as they got close,” objected Langsda. “We have to assume the EnBees would watch any entrance closely.“ We need something stealthier.”

 

“But once inside, they will need enough firepower to complete the mission!” objected Alby in turn.

 

“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” said Admiral Quinn soothingly. When she had their attention, she smiled.

 

“I believe I have exactly the man for the job.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Anny did her push-ups while trying to ignore the presence of Ines Da Silva in their cell. The woman was visiting with Paulo again. Anny had forced herself into a routine of physical training to keep up her strength—just in case the opportunity to use it arose. She glanced at Da Silva and then at the two guards with drawn shock sticks standing in the doorway and decided that, yet again, this wasn’t the opportunity. There were at least two more guards out in the hallway. She feared that the opportunity would probably never come. The EnBees were being very careful with their prisoners.

 

Even so, she made plans in her head. She felt confident that she could take out the two in the doorway. She had forced herself to become very good at close combat and she could tell, just from the way the men carried themselves, that they weren’t expecting any serious trouble. She could kill or disable them before they knew what hit them. Vorpatril had told her in a whispered conversation that he was pretty good in close combat himself, so he could knock out Da Silva while she took the first two. But the next two were the problem. They probably had stunners and at the first hint of trouble they’d just spray the whole cell and sort out friend from foe later. One advantage of non-lethal weaponry. So, she’d just wake up hours later with nothing but a headache to show for her efforts—and they’d never give her another chance again. No, if—when—she made her move, it would have to be decisive.

 

And she would have to make a move at some point.

 

The Regiment was in danger. Jer and Alby and Patric and Chris and all her friends and comrades were in terrible danger. If the EnBees launched their attack as General What’s-his-name described, the 61st could be defeated in detail—annihilated. She had to get a warning out to them! But the first step in doing that was to get out of this cell, and so far she hadn’t been able to do that. And even if she got out, then what? Her knowledge of the base was limited to what she’d seen on their one tour and she hadn’t seen any exits. Sometimes, late at night (or she assumed it was night), when it was very quiet, she thought she could hear water, like waves lapping on a shoreline. Was there some sort of water entrance? Assuming they were still on Tamborete, it was reasonable to think they might be near the water. Could they swim out? Too many unknowns. No way to make plans until they were out of here.

 

“But I want to go home!” whimpered Paulo suddenly. “I miss my mama!”

 

“I know, I know,” said Da Silva. “But it won’t be much longer, I promise.” The woman’s visits to see Paulo had become a daily ritual. Anny wasn’t sure why she didn’t take him out of the cell instead of staying. Maybe she couldn’t let the boy see any of the base.

 

“Your promises aren’t worth much, Ines,” said Anny, stopping her exercise and rolling over to look at the woman. “You tell lies the way other people breathe.”

 

“You dare talk of lies!” snarled the woman. “If I told any lies, it was for the good of the people here! Your very existence is a lie! You come here claiming you bring help, but you are nothing but invaders!”

 

Anny knew that any debate was pointless, but her frustration was boiling to the surface and Da Silva was the only possible target. She got up from the floor and sat on her bed. “I haven’t told Paulo any lies. Have I, Paulo?” The boy looked uncertainly between Anny and his teacher. “Your teacher admitted to lying in front of your whole class. Now she says that she was lying about telling lies! Are you going to believe her?”

 

“You’re scaring him,” said Da Silva.

 

“Me? I’m not the one holding him prisoner! Why did you bring him here, Ines? Why didn’t you just send him away when he followed us into the school?”

 

“I did it to save his life!” snapped Da Silva.

 

“What? What are you talking about?”

 

“We… we blew up the school to cover our escape,” said Da Silva, suddenly far less certain of herself. “I was afraid that Paulo would hang around and get caught in it. I saved his life!”

 

“You… you blew up the school?” cried Paulo.

 

“It was necessary. I’m sorry, but sometimes sacrifices have to be made, Paulo.”

 

“Like all those people in the church?” said Anny sarcastically. “Have you told him you were responsible for that, too?”

 

The boy looked as Da Silva in horror and edged away from her.

 

“No one was hurt at the school! No one! The church… I didn’t have anything to do with that.”

 

“But you knew it was going to happen,” said Anny. Da Silva glared at her but said nothing. She looked at Paulo, extending her arms, but the boy backed away into the corner.

 

“You… you blew up our school? But what about Pepe?” The boy’s eyes were very wide and there were tears in them. Da Silva sucked in her breath.

 

“Pepe?” asked Anny.

 

“Our turtle! We kept him in a terrarium!” wailed the boy. “I fed him every Tuesday!”

 

“More sacrifices, Ines? Like the children in the church choir? How long until you need to sacrifice Paulo, too?”

 

“Shut up! _Shut up!”_ Da Silva was on her feet now, fists clenched in rage. “Everything I’ve done was for the children! For Paulo! But you! You’re just a professional killer! You kill whoever your emperor tells you to kill! And if he told you to kill Paulo, you’d do it, wouldn’t you? _Wouldn’t you?”_

 

“I doubt very much my emperor would ever give such an order. But your boss doesn’t seem to have any problem with things like that, does he?”

 

Da Silva snarled out a curse and stalked past her toward the door. She aimed a slap at Anny as she passed, but she easily dodged it. For one instant, she considered the idea of leaping after Da Silva, using her as a distraction to fight her way out of here. But the guards were on full alert now due to the verbal combat. No, she’d never make it. Da Silva went through the door, the guards withdrew, and it slammed shut. Damn.

 

“Well, that was interesting,” said Vorpatril. The man had sat on his bunk through the whole exchange. “If this were a debate, I’d say you won, Anny.”

 

“For all the good it does us!” A small sob made her turn. Paulo was still in the corner, tears streaming down his face. He was shaking. Anny went over to him and after a moment of hesitation, he flung himself into her arms and cried. It took her quite a while to settle him down, but eventually he fell asleep and she put him on her bunk. He’d been sharing the bunk with her since the first night. Vorpatril made room for her to sit on the end of his bunk.

 

“We’re running out of time,” she whispered.

 

“I know. For a second there, I thought you were going to try something when Da Silva was leaving. Good thing you didn’t; there were two more of those goons in the corridor where you couldn’t see them.”

 

“Damn, they’re being too careful.”

 

“With the plastic spoons that come with the rations packs, we might be able to tunnel out of here in a million years or so.”

 

“Too long. Hell! We’ve got to do something!”

 

“But what?”

 

“I don’t know!” She sat there in frustration for a while and then decided it was probably time to go to sleep. There was nothing else to do anyway.

 

Just as she was about to switch back to her own bunk, the glow bulb in the ceiling flickered for an instant. That was odd; the units were self-contained… A moment later, there was a faint thud at their door. They both froze. A scraping sound came from the door.

 

Yes, someone was outside, but what were they doing? Anny was just going to put her ear to it when the door suddenly slid open. She lurched backwards and went into a combat stance.

 

A man was standing in the doorway and he was the oddest-looking fellow she’d ever seen. He had very long, gangly, arms and legs, light grayish-skin with a strange, pebbly texture, huge rib cage, and bizarrely elongated digits on his hands and feet. He was wearing only a tight set of shorts, an equipment belt, and a backpack. He looked warily at her and Vorpatril. Anny gasped when she saw two of the EnBees sprawled on the floor of the corridor outside.

 

“What…? Who are you?” demanded Vorpatril.

 

“I’m with the Dendarii Free Mercenaries,” the stranger whispered. “My name is Russo Gupta, but you can call me Guppy.”


	5. Lieutenants Part 5

**Chapter 26**

 

“I’m assuming you’re here to rescue us?” asked Ivan.

 

“That’s the idea,” said the strange man named Guppy. “But we gotta get moving.” He pulled off the backpack he was wearing and opened it. “Here, put these on. Ditch your other stuff.” He handed them a set of inky black skinsuits that Ivan recognized as stealth garments. _Same sort the EnBees used to ambush us._ Anny Payne didn’t hesitate for a second in stripping off her coveralls and pulling on the stealth suit. Ivan did so as well. The suits had hoods that covered the whole face except for the eyes. Goggles covered those. As he sealed it up, the suit activated and the black turned to a dark gray that matched the color of the stone walls. Even just a meter away, Anny was difficult to see.

 

“Aren’t you wearing one?” Ivan asked Gupta.

 

“Don’t need one. I’m naturally stealthy.”

 

“Do you have a suit for the boy?” asked Anny. “I won’t leave him behind.”

 

“Yeah, we suspected he might be here. Had a helluva time finding a suit to fit a kid, but the Admiral had a couple of really small ones for some reason.” He pulled another one out of his pack and handed it to Anny. She pulled back her hood so as not to scare the kid out of his wits, gently woke the boy, and tried to explain what was happening and what they had to do. He was amazingly quick on the uptake.

 

“Don’t watch while I take my old clothes off, okay?” he asked. She obligingly turned her back.

 

“The EnBees probably have vid pickups in here,“ said Ivan.

 

“Got ‘em scammed,” said Guppy, tapping a small box on his belt. “But they’ll catch on to that soon. Gotta move.”

 

“How’d you find us in this maze?” asked Ivan. The boy was still getting dressed so they had a few seconds to chat.

 

“Got lucky. Came up in a little underground lake. Even had a little beach, and two of the EnBees were there making out. Knocked out the one and fast-penta’d the other. He gave me a real good description of the base layout and where you two were being kept.”

 

“We going out the same way?” _Swim?_

 

“That’s the plan. I’ve got rebreathers for you three left back at the lake. We’re gonna hafta go pretty deep; hope you folks can handle that.” Ivan kept staring at the strange creature and suddenly realized that he was some sort of amphibian. Webbed fingers and toes. And those strange slits along his rib cage… gills? Ivan shuddered.

 

“We’re ready,” said Anny.

 

“Okay, let’s put the goons in here and we can get going.” They exited the cell and Ivan sighed in relief to see that the corridor was deserted except for the two unconscious guards. He and Anny grabbed one and threw him inside. Anny pulled a stunner off the man’s belt.

 

“Better leave that,” said Gupta. “They might be able to track the power pack. And if you fired it, they’d pick that up for sure. I’ve got a dart gun if we need it.”

 

Anny reluctantly let the stunner fall to the floor and they bent to move the other guard. A gasp from down the corridor made them twist around. A figure was standing there. _Damn!_

“What…? Don’t anyone move!” It was Da Silva. Come back to renew the debate? To take the kid away? It didn’t matter. She had a weapon in her hand and Ivan saw that it was a nerve disruptor, not a stunner. She came closer and stared. “Payne? Is that you? Vorpatril? But who… what are you?” she pointed her weapon at Guppy, who just stood there.

 

“Crap,” he said.

 

“Whoever you are, back into the cell!” commanded Da Silva. She gestured with her weapon and took another step forward. She was only a few meters away now.

 

“Vorpatril,” said Anny in Russian. “I’m going to jump her. Grab that stunner and take her out when I do.”

 

“Anny! Don’t be crazy! You’ll be killed!”

 

“No choice. We have to warn the regiment.”

 

“Shut up, both of you!” cried Da Silva. She couldn’t understand them, but she obviously didn’t like them talking. “Get in the cell! Move or I’ll shoot!”

 

Payne tensed and Ivan was in an agony of indecision. Let her do it? Try to jump Da Silva himself before Anny could sacrifice herself?

 

But before either of them could do anything, he heard movement behind him. “No more lies!” cried a young voice. He turned his head and there was Paulo, barely to be seen in his stealth suit. He had the stunner that Anny had dropped, clutched in both hands.

 

“Paulo?” gasped Da Silva in amazement. The nerve disruptor wavered.

 

The boy fired and Da Silva collapsed in a heap.

 

Guppy gave off a long, gurgling sigh. “Well, that’s torn it. Unless the EnBee’s are all asleep, someone will have noticed that. But good work, kid.”

 

“I had to,” said Paulo, voice husky with tears. “She lied.”

 

Ivan gently took the stunner from him while Payne scooped up the nerve disruptor. “Come on, let’s get out of here. Which way?”

 

Guppy pointed down the corridor in the opposite direction of the way they’d been taken the other day. They moved out, leaving the unconscious bodies where they lay. Anny took Paulo’s hand and pulled him along, Guppy led the way, with Ivan right behind. They went about a hundred meters along the curving corridor, Ivan whispering to Guppy. “So where the hell are we?”

 

“Under the volcano.”

 

“On Tamborete?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“That’s what we were guessing.”

 

“Looks like a big base. Must be a few hundred goons in here, right?”

 

“A few hundred? Try four or five thousand!”

 

“Crap, you’re kidding, right?”

 

“Afraid not.”

 

“Hell, the Admiral never said anything about that!”

 

They reached an opening in the wall, beyond which was a vertical shaft through the rock, with stairs leading up and down. “Down we go,” said Guppy. The steps were metal, but the soft soles of their stealth suits let them proceed silently. Not so the boots of the men coming up the stairs. They heard them long before they saw them.

 

“Crap. If there are only a few, maybe we can fight our way through.”

 

“Sounds like more than a few,” hissed Ivan.

 

“Up! Go back up!”

 

They reversed their course and backtracked up the stairs. When they reached the floor they’d been on, Ivan stuck his head into the corridor for a look and quickly pulled it back. There was a party of men down the corridor.

 

“Hey!” cried one of them. “There’s something over there! Got a power reading on the scanner!” Ivan snapped off a shot with his stunner and several bolts splashed off the wall in reply. Anny came up behind him, thrust her hand past him and fired. A horrible scream echoed off the walls, then shouts and curses.

 

“That’ll make ‘em mad,” said Guppy.

 

“It’ll make them _scared_!” snarled Anny. “Non-lethal weapons are no use here!” She dashed back to the stairway and fired down over the railing. No scream this time, just a loud clang as something heavy hit the metal stairs. Then more shouts. Ivan shuddered. Nerve disruptors scared the shit out of him. Hopefully the EnBees would react the same way. “Come on! Ivan, take Paulo! Move!”

 

She led them up the stairs, the shouts fading behind them. Ivan held onto the boy’s hand and dragged him up after him. They came to one landing but kept on going. At the next one, they barged right into four EnBees, who seemed unaware of their approach. This time Anny didn’t use the disruptor. She launched herself right into the midst of them and in five seconds of flashing hands and feet put all four of them down. Ivan stared in amazement. He considered himself pretty good in the martial arts, but this…! The short fight had knocked her goggles askew and the fire in the woman’s eyes would have made him step back if she hadn’t been on his side.

 

“Wow,” said Guppy.

 

Anny quickly relieved the EnBees of a couple of plasma arcs, handed one to Guppy and kept one for herself. She handed the disruptor to Ivan, who really didn’t want it.

 

“Any idea where we’re going?” he gasped.

 

“I only got info about the lower part of the base and where you guys were kept,” said Guppy. “No time for any more than that.”

 

“If we’re under the volcano, then up seems like a good idea. But in the meantime…” She looked out into the corridor and Ivan cautiously did likewise. It was deserted, but Payne pointed up. Due to the tunneled-out nature of the base, all the utilities, water lines, air ducts, and power conduits were left exposed, attached to the ceiling. “Let’s give them something else to worry about.” She aimed the plasma arc at a bundle of conduits. “Shield your eyes!” The beam sliced through the conduits and there was a spectacular shower of sparks for a moment

 

“Shame the rock won’t burn,” said Ivan.

 

“No, it’s not,” said Guppy. “You people are crazy! The Admiral never said anything about that!”

 

It may have been coincidental, but almost immediately, an alarm began sounding. They quickly went on up the steps, but at the next level they ended and they were forced back into a corridor. This one was deserted, fortunately, and they followed it around. The corridors all curved, apparently following the shape of the volcano. They found another stair leading up and followed it as far as it went, but then had to go back out into a main corridor again. Anny blasted another bundle of conduits. “We need to get out of these big corridors,” said Ivan. They passed several side-passages branching off, but these only went a dozen meters or so before ending in armored doors.

 

“It’s not going to be long before they track us down,” said Guppy.

 

“Well, what do you suggest?” snapped Ivan.

 

“There’s something blocking my communications. Probably the same stealth shielding that’s keeping this whole base hidden. If we can find a door or window to the outside, then I can make contact. There are shuttles standing by to pick us up.”

 

“Any way out is going to be closely guarded,” said Anny.

 

They went a bit farther but then heard noise ahead of them. The base was being aroused and they had so much manpower they’d soon be able blanket every passage. They fell back, but then heard more voices from the other direction. They backed into one of the side corridors. There was nowhere else to go. “Dead end,” sighed Ivan, looking at the heavy door.

 

“I might be able to get this open,” said Guppy. “I’ve got tools. But it will take a few minutes.”

 

“Then we’ll buy you some time,” said Anny. She took a position at the opening to the main corridor. Ivan swapped his nerve disruptor for the plasma arc that Guppy was carrying. Why was he more comfortable burning a man to ashes than leaving him a vegetable? He’d have to think on that later—if there was a later. He joined Payne at the corridor entrance.

 

It wasn’t long before they heard people approaching. Some of them were talking, but Ivan’s Portuguese was none too good. Payne’s was a lot better. “They’re tracking the energy emissions from our weapons,” she whispered. “Get ready.”

 

They waited another half-minute and then Payne said: “Now!” They both leaned out and fired. The white hot beams blasted down the corridor in both directions. Ivan briefly saw a man outlined in flames before he ducked back. There were shouts and screams and a few stunner bolts fired in reply. He and Payne fired again. This time there was no return fire and even he could tell that the cries now were to fall back. Okay, they’d bought some time.

 

“How’s it coming?’ he called to Guppy.

 

“This one’s tricky. Your cell door was easier.”

 

“Can you do it?” demanded Payne.

 

“Think so…”

 

“Well, hurry!”

 

“Doin’ my best…”

 

They hunkered down and waited. They could hear more activity, but the EnBees had retreated beyond the curve of the corridor and couldn’t be seen. The nasty smell of charred flesh reached Ivan’s nostrils and he tried not to think about what was causing it. _Those guys are gonna be really pissed._

 

Anny fired a couple more shots, just to keep the EnBees cautious, but they made no attempt to rush them. Guppy didn’t seem to be making any progress on the damn door…

 

“Lord Vorpatril!” came an amplified voice, echoing down the corridor. “You can’t possibly escape. Surrender now and you and your companions won’t be harmed. If you refuse, we can make no guarantee of your safety.”

 

“What do you want to do?” he asked Anny.

 

“It won’t be long before they get men up here in half-armor with plasma mirrors. Once that happens, they can just walk in here and stun us. But we can’t give up!”

 

“No. But the only hope left is to get through that door. Guppy?”

 

“Working on it!”

 

Ivan frowned. And even if they did get the door open, it would probably only lead to another dead-end corridor. It was too much to hope that it was a door to the outside.

 

“Last chance, Vorpatril!” came the voice again. _Why are they assuming I’m in charge here?_

 

_“Guppy?”_

 

“Almost there…”

 

Noise came from out in the corridor and Payne fired a shot. There was an odd flash of light and she cursed. “Plasma mirror!” The woman seemed to coil herself for some last spring.

 

He put a hand on her shoulder. “It was a good try, Anny. But getting yourself killed now isn’t going to help your regiment. And they know we’re here now. They’ll be on alert. We need to wait and see what happens.”

 

He could see the distress in her eyes even through the stealth goggles. But then she slumped and nodded.

 

From behind them, there was a mechanical hiss and a cry of triumph. “Got it!” The door was open! “Come on!”

 

They fell back through the opening into a narrow utility passage. The door slid closed again at the push of a button next to it. “Stand back!” cried Payne. She put the plasma arc on narrow beam and then slagged the control box and welded the door shut. “That will only hold them for a little while. Let’s go!”

 

The passage only went a dozen meters before ending in a ‘T’ intersection. To the left, it receded into the distance, but to the right… “Look at that,” said Payne. A huge bundle of power conduits came up out of the floor. Some branched off into the passageway, while most of them went up through the roof. “Move back, I’m gonna blast that.”

 

 

“Uh, is that wise?” asked Ivan. “It’s so close in here.”

 

“Wise or not, I’m going to do it. Move back!”

 

They retreated down the left hand passage, Ivan, leading the boy. “Okay, shield your eyes!” commanded Payne. She fired and the conduits dissolved in a blinding explosion that nearly knocked them down. A cloud of thick, choking smoke engulfed them and they fell back even farther, bending low to stay out of the cloud.

 

“Hey!” coughed Guppy suddenly, hand to one ear. “Hey! That did something! I’ve got communications!”

 

“Good!” said Anny. “Communicate with someone!”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“You had absolutely no business doing what you did, Lieutenant!” snapped Colonel Fetherbay. “You should have told me before trying this cockamamie scheme!”

 

“B-but sir…” stuttered Alby.

 

“And your analysis on the locations of the EnBee bases! That should have been shown to me immediately! Why, this could be the key to ending this war!”

 

“Sir…”

 

“When I agreed to let you work with those mercenaries, it was with the understanding that anything you came up with would be reported to me! What the hell were you thinking, Vorsworth?”

 

“Colonel Fetherbay,” said Lieutenant Commander Langsda. The man looked completely at ease and Alby was jealous—there wasn’t anything Fetherbay could do to _him_! “I did urge Lieutenant Vorsworth to delay telling you. _My_ mission was to retrieve Lord Vorpatril and I feared that an all-out assault would put his life in additional danger. My superiors and I felt a small rescue mission sent in early would greatly increase the chances of his—and Lieutenant Payne’s—survival.”

 

That made an impression. Alby knew that Fetherbay was nearly as anxious to get Anny back as he was. “And where is this rescue mission? You say you’ve had no contact in over a day?”

 

“We were expecting that, sir. The only hope of penetrating that base undetected was to completely avoid using any energy sources. The only way inside that we could find was an underwater route. We had an… asset that could exploit such a route, but only moving slowly. We aren’t expecting to hear anything from him for quite a while yet.”

 

Fetherbay frowned ferociously, glaring at Langsda and then Alby. “I should have been informed!”

 

“Sir,” said Major Danilov. “While I agree with you completely, I think the most urgent thing is to assemble the Regiment and get this information up to BEF HQ. Despite the delay caused by Lieutenant Vorsworth, he’s still presented us with a huge opportunity. We shouldn’t waste it.”

 

“Get on it immediately, Major,” said the Colonel.

 

“Yes, sir!” Danilov started issuing orders and the situation room burst into activity.

 

“Sir?” ventured Alby. “Shouldn’t we at least give the rescue mission a chance before we start blasting our way in there?”

 

“We’ll have to see what headquarters decides. It will take us a while to get ready in any case. Now, I want a complete briefing on this rescue mission and anything else you’ve found that you haven’t told me about! And what the devil is Lady Vorpatril doing here?”

 

Alby exchanged glances with Langsda and sighed. “Yes, sir. Let’s sit down.”

 

It took nearly an hour to tell the tale; then Fetherbay called in Lady Vorpatril to get her part of the story. All the while, Alby was getting increasingly nervous. When _were_ they going to hear from that Dendarii amphibian? He had scarcely believed it when Admiral Quinn explained her notion of using the genengineered man from Jackson’s Whole to penetrate the EnBee base from the sea. It had seemed crazy, but somehow he’d let himself be persuaded. Initial recon with drones had discovered several places on the sea floor where it appeared that the roofs of the lava tubes had collapsed, exposing them to the sea. Their man might be able to enter that way, but the only way to know for sure was to try—they didn’t dare send the drones in for fear of setting off an alarm. But this Russo Gupta could swim in and would—in theory—look like nothing more than some sea creature on sensors. So, about thirty-six hours ago, a Dendarii shuttle had dropped him off. They’d been waiting for word ever since. Alby wasn’t quite sure how Fetherbay had been tipped off to what was going on, but he clearly had been. Part of Alby was relieved, but somehow he still had to delay any full-blown assault until Gupta had either rescued Anny and Vorpatril—or failed. _He might have been killed or captured in the first hour—or still be lost down there!_ Not knowing was driving him crazy.

 

By the time they were done briefing Fetherbay, responses were starting to come back down the chain of command from the HQ in Araxa. The 61st was to assemble and prepare for an assault, but wait for the word to go in. Several warships were being vectored in to provide support, if and when needed. Other forces were being sent to investigate the other areas Alby’s analysis had indicated might be EnBee bases. Fetherbay finally released them and went to coordinate his command’s activities. “So what happens now?” demanded Lady Vorpatril.

 

“It would appear that the Barrayarans are preparing to assault the enemy base,” said Langsda.

 

“And you don’t think they should?” The woman’s eyes looked anxiously between the two men.

 

Langsda hesitated a moment before replying. “I don’t know. If our agent has succeeded in getting to your husband and the others, then the assault might actually help him free them and get away in the confusion. But if he hasn’t managed to reach them, then… well, this attack could put them all at greater risk.”

 

Lady Vorpatril looked at Alby and he was forced to nod in agreement. The situation was not good. He’d read the report of the Cetagandan’s attack on the one big underground base they had discovered. The place was a regular rabbits’ warren of underground rooms and tunnels with a garrison of over five hundred and some nasty built-in defenses. The EnBees had fought savagely and exacted a heavy toll on the attackers. Toward the end, the Cetas had resorted to just tossing grenades and demolition charges into every room. Not a good tactic if you were trying to rescue hostages. But if Anny and the others were loose, maybe the attack could cover their get-away…

 

Vorpatril frowned, got up from the table and tracked down Fetherbay. They were too far away to hear what was said, but neither one looked happy. After a minute or two she came back, fuming. “He says that he has orders to attack!”

 

“When?” asked Langsda.

 

“I don’t know! Soon, I guess.”

 

Alby checked the time and was surprised to see that it was mid-morning. He’d been on the go non-stop for so long he’d lost track of day and night. He excused himself, got up and left the situation room, and found a window. Yes, it was a beautiful day. The window looked out from the HQ building on the central square of Milagres. There was a lot of activity going on out there. The orders had gone out to pull all the battalions off of their search missions and get them ready for battle. It would take a while, but he expected they would be ready in a few hours at most. And then what? What should he do? He hadn’t worn his armor in months, but perhaps it was time to get it ready. Maybe he could persuade Fetherbay to let him lead a small force of picked men to specifically try and rescue Anny and the others…

 

“Alby!” The shout made him jump. Langsda was there, just down the hall.

 

“What?”

 

“We’ve got a signal from Gupta!”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Who are you talking to?” demanded Anny Payne of the strange being named Guppy.

 

“Well, first I got the shuttle that was waiting to pick us up, then they routed me to the Admiral, and now she’s linked in with your Barrayarans. But reception is terrible; I can barely make out anything. They noticed the explosion you caused right off, but the communicator signal is having a hard time getting through all this rock.”

 

Anny looked anxiously down the narrow utility corridor. The smoke had mostly dispersed by now, but she could hear noises in the distance. The conduits she’d blasted had exploded with amazing violence, bringing down part of the stone ceiling and walls. She wasn’t sure if the way was completely blocked, but she hoped it would slow down the EnBees a bit. Even so, they didn’t have much time.

 

“Can they locate us? From your signal?”

 

“They’re working on it, I think.”

 

“Well, tell them to hurry!”

 

“I did! I’m not stupid, y’know!”

 

She turned as Vorpatril came back. He’d gone farther down the corridor in the opposite direction to see if there was any way out. “No luck,” he said. “The thing just dead ends after about fifty meters. Another big batch of conduits, if you want to blast them, too. You were hoping that cutting them would bring down their stealth fields, weren’t you?”

 

‘That’s what I was hoping, yeah.”

 

“Well, it worked. Good thinking.”

 

“Maybe. We aren’t out of here yet.”

 

“Okay, I’ll tell them,” said Guppy. He looked at them and said: “They’ve triangulated on my signal. We’re up on the side of the volcano, but there’s about thirty meters of rock between us and the outside. They’re gonna try to figure out some way of cutting through to us.”

 

A loud clang from the way they’d come got all of their attentions. The EnBees were getting through the door.

 

“No time for that!” cried Anny. “Tell them to aim where they detected the explosion and hit it with something big!”

 

“Are you crazy? We’re right here!”

 

“There’s no choice! Now tell them!”

 

“Damn, the Admiral never said anything about this!” Guppy protested, but then started talking into his com.

 

“We better move back as far as we can,” said Vorpatril.

 

“Yes, come on Paulo.”

 

“I want to go home!” whimpered the boy as they retreated.

 

“We’ll get you home soon,” she promised. “You’re being very brave, you know.”

 

“All right!” cried Guppy. “They are gonna give it a try! Take cover!”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“They’re asking us to try and blast through to them,” said Colonel Fetherbay. “What have we got in the area that can do the job—without killing everyone?”

 

Tej looked anxiously at the seeming bedlam in the situation room. People were coming and going and the big holo-displays flowed with information—none of which made and sense to her. But they’d found Ivan Xav! The crazy scheme to go in and rescue them had worked—sort of. They were loose, but the EnBees were tracking them down. Now they just needed to get them out of there!

 

“Our assault shuttles don’t have anything that can blast through that much rock,” said one of the officers.

 

“The warship’s weapons are _too_ powerful, sir,” said another. “They could bring down the whole side of the crater.”

 

“Forget that, then,” said Fetherbay. “We’re trying to _rescue_ our people!”

 

“How about the heavy mass drivers in the AT platoons? They’ve got the power and the fine control.”

 

“Sounds like it’s worth a try. Which platoon is in the best position to hit that location?”

 

“That one!” cried Alby Vorsworth suddenly, pointing at one of the displays. “H Company, 3rd platoon!”

 

Fetherbay’s face took on an odd expression. An expression that sent a chill through Tej for no reason she could define. The man looked at the display and then at Vorsworth. Then he nodded. “Major, give the order. Tell them what to do—and tell the commander _exactly_ what he is being asked to do!”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“So what the hell is this all about… sir?” asked Sergeant Shusterman.

 

“Beats the hell out of me,” replied Jer Naddel. All around them the men of 3rd Battalion were assembling. He had heard that the other two battalions were forming up nearby. The militia companies were being mustered as well. If there was time, he would try to get over to his company and make sure everything was okay. Flora Levine had been filling in as the acting company commander more and more, and doing a good job, but he still liked to keep an eye on her. And nothing like this had happened since the Regiment captured the island. To make the mystery even more mysterious, instead of forming up near their camps, they were way out on the northwest corner of the island, near the big volcano. The assault shuttles had just landed on a ridge about four kilometers from the base of the cone and Jer was wondering if he should off-load his heavy weapons or wait.

 

The morning had started normally enough: go out and search for Anny. It had almost become routine—at least for everyone else. For Jer, it was still a burning obsession. Find her! Find her! But then a few hours ago, a call had gone out on the general channel for everyone to drop whatever they were doing, gear up, and assemble at the locations shown on their tactical displays. Only a few of the men searching did so in full armor, so this had produced a mad scramble back to bases and armories. And now they were here, waiting… for what?

 

Jer checked over his platoon. Everyone was here and all the gear was in order. He checked with Captain Andronov, but he just told him to stand fast and wait for orders. Shuttles were still landing to bring in other parts of the regiment and there were a half-dozen more buzzing around the volcano. Why?

 

They had been waiting for over an hour when he got a sudden call from Andronov: “Naddel! Get your guns unloaded and set up! At the double!”

 

“Yes sir!” said Jer, startled. “Sergeant! Let’s get deployed! Move!”

 

His men exploded into action. The ramps on the shuttles were already open so, in just a few moments, the rail guns were sliding out on their float cradles. Troopers were fitting in the power packs and ammo magazines as they moved. It was done efficiently and in less than a minute, the guns were ready for action. But what action? A moment later, he got the answer over his com.

 

“Lieutenant Naddel, this is Major Danilov. We are feeding you some coordinates right now. They are on the slope of the volcano. We need you to blast a hole through the side of the mountain. Carefully. Your fire needs to be very precise and not deviate from…

 

“Jer!” a new voice inserted itself into the instructions and it sounded like…

 

“Alby?”

 

“Yeah! Listen, Jer, we found Anny!”

 

“What! Where?” Jer’s heart was suddenly pounding. _Anny!_

“About fifty meters from where you are being told to fire!”

 

“Lieutenant Vorsworth!” snapped Danilov. “I’m handling this!”

 

“What!” cried Jer, looking toward the mountain.

 

“Jer!” continued Alby, ignoring Danilov. “Anny and the others are loose, but the EnBees have them cornered. We need to blast through to them and we need to do it right now! But for God’s sake, shoot straight!”

 

“Vorsworth! That’s quite enough!” said Danilov. “Lieutenant Naddel, do you understand your orders? Fire one shot at a time and wait to hear if you’ve broken through before firing again. Understand?”

 

“Y-yes, sir,” said Jer in a daze. “C-Can I take a couple of ranging shots at low power? To make sure we’re on target?”

 

“Yes. Now carry out your orders. Time is critical.”

 

“Yes sir.” He looked around and saw Shusterman staring at him. Had he been listening in?

 

“We just got some targeting data downloaded, sir. We can shoot on your order. Don’t worry, sir, our boys can shoot the eye out of a squirrel at five klicks.”

 

Jer swallowed and tried to clear his head. He had a target, but Anny was way too close. Just like that day in Milagres when he knocked out that bunker. But she’d been in armor then. Now, now she had nothing to protect her. Could he do this?

 

“Sir? We’re ready.”

 

There was no time. No time at all to think about this. If he hesitated it would be too late. “Very well,” he heard himself saying. “Gun Number One, ten percent power. Verify you are on the target coordinates.”

 

“On target, sir!” answered the gunner, a man named Hayes. He _was_ good. _Good enough?_ Shusterman was looking over the man’s shoulder and nodded at him.

 

“Stand by! Fire!”

 

The rail gun lurched back as it flung its three kilogram projectile at the mountain. Two seconds later a puff of dust and debris rose up from the slope of the mountain. Jer’s armor allowed him to zoom in on the spot. Even at low power, the shot had torn away the surrounding vegetation and gouged a chunk out of the mountainside. He repeated the process with his other gun. “Deviation?” he snapped. Reports came back showing they were a bit off target. Sophisticated sensors allowed them to compare the target coordinates to the actual fall of shot. Wind, air density, humidity, even the gravitational pull of the planet’s large moon could affect the path of the projectiles. Data came flowing in and adjustments were made.

 

“Fire!”

 

Two more shots went out and this time they were dead on, within a meter or so of the desired spot. “Adjust for full power!” commanded Jer. At full power, the shots would follow different trajectories, but the computer could adjust for that, using the data from the test shots.

 

“Gun Number One, ready!”

 

“Gun Number Two, ready!”

 

“Ready, sir,” said Shusterman.

 

This was it. Had he done everything right? Anny’s life depended on it. His gauntlet brushed against his chest armor. One of his great aunts back on Komarr, an eccentric and rather superstitious old woman, had sent him a medallion when she’d found out what his job was. She said it was an antique, a relic from Old Earth. Jer remembered that she had a collection of stuff like that. The medallion was to someone named Saint Barbara and the legend said that she was a patron of gunners. His aunt had said the medallion would bring him luck. It was a beautiful thing and he’d taken to wearing it under his shirt. He couldn’t get to it in his armor but it was there. _Saint Barbara, do your stuff!_

 

“Gun Number One… Fire!”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“What are they waiting for?” hissed Anny. There was movement down at the junction in the corridor. Someone moving around, clearing debris. Once they were past the block, they could just come get them. With men in half-armor with plasma mirrors, their weapons would be useless. They could just walk right up and stun them. Damn! They’d been so close! She could see someone climbing over the debris…

 

“Vorpatril!” came that amplified voice again. “We are losing patience! Come out with your hands up. Do it now!”

 

_“Guppy?”_

 

“They say they are just about to…”

 

A loud thud cut him off and there was a slight shudder in the corridor. Some small rocks fell from the roof and the figure at the junction halted. A moment later, there was another thud. A short pause and then two more. A longer pause and then…

 

_Wham!_

 

A massive impact shook the whole tunnel. Dust and bits of stone rained down on them. Wild cries came from near the intersection and Anny thought she could hear someone calling for them to fall back.

 

“Did that make it through?” asked Guppy? “They want to know.”

 

“No!” shouted Anny. Her ears were still ringing.

 

“Hang on, they’re gonna hit it again!”

 

_Wham!_

 

Another impact; louder and stronger than before. More debris pelted down and the glow bulb over them fell to the floor and broke. It was almost completely dark now.

 

“Through?”

 

“No!”

 

“Man, the Admiral never said anything about this!”

 

The third shot was the strongest yet. There was a bright flash as superheated plasma blasted through the rock and travelled halfway down the corridor towards them before dissipating. The noise left her partially deafened and she coughed as a cloud of dust enveloped her. The noise of falling and grinding rock came to her, muffled by her stunned ears. She blinked and blinked to clear her eyes of the after-image the plasma flare had left. The dust was so thick, she couldn’t see…

 

“Look!” cried Vorpatril. “is that…?”

 

“Daylight! They’re through!”

 

“But can _we_ get through?”

 

Anny hesitated. Call for another shot? It might bring the whole roof down. But if they went and found they couldn’t get through, it might give the EnBees a chance to…

 

 _The hell with it!_ “Guppy! Tell them to cease fire! Come on! Let’s get out of here!” She lurched to her feet. “Paulo! Come with me!” She grabbed the boy and started forward, stumbling over rubble in the corridor. Vorpatril and Guppy came behind.

 

As they got closer to the light, there was more and more rubble. As she neared where the corridor intersection used to be, she and Paulo were crawling and climbing over piles of rock. She had a moment of panic when she couldn’t find a way through the rubble but then she saw a gap and squirmed through, pulling Paulo after her. Beyond, there was a larger space and, to the left a new tunnel leading slightly down and at the end.…

 

“Outside!” cried the boy. “Look, Anny! A way out!” The boy started to move.

 

“Wait, Paulo. We need to stay together. Wait for the others.” Vorpatril was having trouble fitting his large shoulders through the small gap in the debris and Anny had to help him move a few small boulders before he would fit. Guppy was much more slender and slid through with no trouble. Off to the right, where the EnBees had been coming from, was a solid mass of shattered stone. It would take them a while to clear that. Or at least it would if they still wanted to take them alive… _If they bring up heavy weapons…_

 

“Come on! Let’s go!” They slid and stumbled down the slope toward the light. A rock the size of her fist smashed down, only missing her by half a meter. “Careful!” The light got closer and she could hear the roar of an assault shuttle’s turbines growing louder. Twenty meters to go… ten…

 

Something partially blocked the light; large figures were silhouetted against it. Men in battle armor.

 

“Lieutenant Payne? Lord Vorpatril?”

 

“We’re here!” They clawed their way the last few meters and then the troopers had them and hauled them into the light. They were far up the side of the volcano and a green landscape stretched out below them, dazzlingly bright in the sunshine. The shuttle hung there, throwing up dust, with its doors invitingly open.

 

“Is this everyone?” asked the trooper in charge.

 

“Yes! Now let’s move! You need to get us to headquarters right away! I need to warn the Colonel!”

 

 

**Chapter 27**

 

Ivan collapsed into a seat on the assault shuttle and gave a long sigh. _Free!_ He felt almost as good as when he’d gotten out of that flood-control tunnel back on Earth. Maybe a little better, because instead of Miles, he had Tej waiting for him. Damn, he missed her!

 

“Stay low!” shouted Anny Payne to the pilot. “And fast!”

 

“Why?” demanded the pilot. “I’ve got no threats on my board.”

 

“That could change! And it probably will! Now move this crate, ensign! That’s an order!” Payne, instead of looking relieved was more keyed up than ever. Oh yeah, that thing under the volcano. They still had to deal with that, didn’t they? Tej might have to wait.

 

Acceleration pushed him back in his seat as the pilot obeyed Payne’s order. The shuttle banked away and Ivan caught a glimpse of the mountainside and saw the hole that had been blasted in it. He whistled. Damn good shooting, whoever had done that.

 

Paulo was in the seat next to him. The boy was shuddering and he had tears on his face. Probably scared out of his mind, the poor kid. Ivan reached over and patted his head. “We’re taking you home, kid. And you did good, you did real good.” He smiled and tousled his hair and the lad give him a faint smile in return. Then Ivan looked at Russo Gupta. “You did a pretty good job, too, Guppy.”

 

The mercenary didn’t look the least bit pleased at the compliment. “Admiral Quinn will send you the bill.” Now there was a thought: who had hired the Dendarii? And who was paying for it? And hell, now Quinn could lord _this_ over him, too! _Probably rescued me just out of spite._

 

“Yes! Right there! Right in the square!” Payne was screaming at the pilot again.

 

“I can’t…! We’ve got standing orders not to…”  


“I don’t give a damn what orders you’ve got! Put us down next to the HQ! I’ve got to get to the Colonel! Right now!”

 

“I can try to get him for you on the com…”

 

“I need to see him in person! Now land this crate!”

 

Ivan looked out and saw that they were over Milagres already. The pilot had certainly obeyed Payne’s order to get them here fast. But he clearly wasn’t happy about this order. Even so, he circled for a moment to kill his speed and then down they went—right into the town square.

 

“The only clear spot I can put it down will crush the front gate!” he shouted.

 

“Then crush it! I’ll be responsible!”

 

“Okay! Here we go!”

 

The shuttle dropped and there was a crunch that was audible even above the turbines and inside the cabin. The machine settled, tilting slightly to one side. The door opened letting in the louder noise of the fading turbines and the growing noise of excited people all around. Payne was out the door like a shot, leaving Ivan with Paulo and Guppy. They looked at him in confusion and Ivan just shrugged and led them out at a more sedate pace. He looked back and confirmed that the ornate wrought iron gates had, indeed, been rather thoroughly crushed. A crowd of civilians was gathering, but the shuttle blocked the way inside the compound quite as completely as the gates once had.

 

People were rushing out the doors of the big headquarters building. Payne was already being ushered inside and another party swarmed around Ivan to pull him after her. He made sure Guppy and the boy weren’t left behind. “Lord Vorpatril,” said a lieutenant he didn’t recognize, “you are to come to the situation room right away, sir.”

 

“What about…?” he gestured to Paulo and Guppy. The man frowned and cringed back slightly at the sight of Guppy—Barrayaran aversion to mutants, of course.

 

“I don’t know, sir, I wasn’t told…”

 

“Guppy, do you want to go see Colonel Fetherbay?”

 

The man shook his head. “Hell no. I’m done here. The Admiral gets first shot at debriefing me—and I’m gonna have a few things to say to her! But I could use some water and food.”

 

“Ivan Xav!” The cry of a familiar and longed-for voice spun him around and there was Tej. She flung herself into his arms and they clutched at each other and kissed a long kiss. “Oh, you’re safe, you’re safe, you’re safe!” she gasped when they came up for air. He looked at her and smiled.

 

“’Course I am, ‘course I am. I told you there was nothing to worry about.”

 

“Oh, you! I’m never letting you out of my sight again!” She kissed him once more.

 

“Uh, Lord Vorpatril? The Colonel is waiting.”

 

“Oh! Uh, Tej, love, could you look after Paulo, here, and Gu-Mr. Gupta? I need to go see Colonel Fetherbay.”

 

“Ivan Xav…” Tej looked peeved.

 

“They could probably use some food. Please, love, the boy’s had a hard time of it and you speak Portuguese and all and Mr.Gupta was the one who got me out of the cell I was in. You probably have a lot of things to talk about…”

 

“What? You mean like how _I_ was the one that got him in there to get you out of that cell?” said Tej stepping back and putting her fists on her hips.

 

“Huh?”

 

“Oh, honestly!” she huffed. “Very well! Come along you two! My big, brave husband has to go and play with the soldiers!” She gathered up Paulo and Guppy and led them off.

 

“Shit,” said Ivan. “What the hell did I miss?”

“Dunno, m’lord. I was starting to envy you there for a second… but please, follow me.”

 

Ivan cast a backward glance at his wife and then followed. The situation room was in an uproar, but the lieutenant expertly threaded his way through the mob and delivered him to Fetherbay who was surrounded by his senior staff and talking with Payne.

 

“Is that thing operational, Lieutenant? If it isn’t then we need to strike right now! Take it out before they are ready!”

 

“I don’t know sir,” replied Payne shaking her head. “It looked nearly complete when I saw it. They were still working on parts of it but the EnBee commander indicated it would be ready very soon and that was… sorry, sir, it was a few days ago at least, but I didn’t have any way to keep track of the time.”

 

“Sir,” said Fetherbay’s operations officer, “at the very least, we could ask the warships overhead to begin a bombardment. If the EnBees aren’t ready we could raise havoc with them!”

 

“Yes. See to it at once, Major.” Fetherbay nodded and then turned back to Payne. “Now what about the other forces you saw there? Brigade strength? Are you sure?” The expression on his face was skeptical.

 

“There were hundreds and hundreds of vehicles, Colonel,” said Ivan coming up next to Payne. “We didn’t have time to count them all, but there were a hell of a lot of them and a lot of troops moving around them.”

 

“Mostly light mechanized, sir,” added Payne. “I didn’t see any heavy armor from where we were, although there could have been more forces that we didn’t see. The base is enormous, sir.”

 

“And right under our noses,” muttered Fetherbay. “Vorsworth, in spite of my chewing you out, you sure as hell earned your salary this week.” Ivan noticed Alby Vorsworth in the crowd of officers. The young man blushed and nodded and mumbled something.

 

“Sir, if we could hit the EnBees before they can deploy from their base we might be able to hurt them badly,” said Payne. “I’m not sure where the exits are, but if we could bottle them up…”

 

“Sir! Colonel Fetherbay!” The shout made everyone jump. It was that major who Fetherbay had sent to contact the warships.

 

“What?” asked Fetherbay, turning to face him.

 

“The skipper of _Impetuous_ is reporting that something is happening around the volcano! A class five force field has come on and they are getting massive energy readings!”

 

“Colonel!” exclaimed another officer. “Priority report from the 2nd Battalion recon troop! I’m putting it on the screen.”

 

One of the big monitors came to life and it showed the cone of the volcano that Ivan had so recently escaped from. But wait… what was happening? One side of the cone was collapsing, bowing outward and sliding away! An enormous cloud of dust rolled down onto the surrounding plain.

 

“Damn. Get me a direct channel with _Impetuous_. Who’s her skipper?”

 

“Commander Vorstein, sir. Just a moment.”

 

Another display came on and an officer in a naval uniform appeared. Behind him could be seen part of a small warship’s bridge. _Impetuous_ was just a frigate if Ivan remembered correctly. Vorstein looked harried. “Colonel, just what the hell have you got down there?”

 

“I was hoping you could tell me that, Commander,” replied Fetherbay. “There’s an EnBee base and possibly a major asset. A, uh, mobile planetary defense center.”

 

Vorstein went pale. “You’re joking, aren’t you Colonel?”

 

“I wish I was. Now, we’re not certain if it is operational…”

 

“Incoming fire!” shouted someone off screen. Vorstein whirled about, but an instant later the image lurched, someone screamed: _grav lance,_ and then the display went blank.

 

“Oh my God,” whispered Fetherbay. “Get me the other frigate!”

 

They tried, but it was several minutes before they got a reply. Another officer appeared, a lieutenant commander by his tabs. He looked mad as hell. “What’s happening?” asked Fetherbay.

 

“What’s happening! What’s happening! _Impetuous_ just got blown out of the sky by a gravitic imploder lance! That’s what happening! What hell were you thinking, bringing us into a death trap like that?” Ivan winced. The imploder lance was one of the nastiest weapons around. It created a massive gravitational shear which could shred a ship literally atom from atom and a small ship like a frigate had almost no defense against it except to stay out of sight or out of range.

 

“I’m sorry, commander, we didn’t know. Is your ship still in danger?”

 

“We’re around the horizon from it now—no thanks to you! But we’re sure as hell not getting in sight of that thing again! Not in a frigate!”

 

“Colonel Fetherbay! 2nd Recon reports enemy forces are debouching from the volcano!”

 

“Sir! Priority call from BEF HQ! They want to talk to you immediately!”

 

Ivan was impressed that Fetherbay didn’t explode. The man did take a deep breath and flex his shoulders, but then just said: “Major Danilov, order all units to fall back to the south of Hill 238. Withdraw all shuttles from the vicinity of the volcano, but keep eyes on it with drones. Stand by for new orders. I’ll be in my office.” He turned and walked away,

 

Ivan looked around, uncertain what to do next. His eyes fell on Anny Payne. She looked at him in distress.

 

“We were too late.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Alby’s eyes darted from one monitor to the next. Things were happening so fast! They had Anny back, but what sort of hornets’ nest had they stuck their hand into to get her? Officers and orderlies were rushing around to carry out the Colonel’s commands, but Alby didn’t have anything he was supposed to be doing at the moment... Oops, that ended abruptly as Captain Hopkins grabbed him.

 

“Alby! See what information you can find on that… that mobile planetary defense center!”

 

“Right… right!” He headed for the nearest unoccupied comconsole, but paused in mid-stride and went over to Anny. She had slumped into a chair and someone had kindly given her a mug of coffee. “Hey there, girl, good to see you.”

 

She smiled at him. “Hi Alby, good to see you, too. I gather that you had something to do with getting us out of there?”

 

“A little.”

 

“Well, thanks. But we’ve still got a hell of a mess to deal with. Can… can you get word to Jer that I’m okay?” She glanced up at one of the big tactical displays. A huge swarm of red dots was appearing around the volcano. The blue icons representing friendly troops were becoming badly outnumbered. One of those blue icons represented Jer Naddel’s platoon.

 

“He already knows, Anny. It was his guns that blasted through to you.”

 

Her face lit up in a weary smile. “Really? That’s my guy: always on target.” She looked at the display again and her face grew serious. She stood up. “I’ve got to get back to my company.”

 

“Anny, you need to rest…”

 

“Except for the last few hours, I’ve been doing nothing but rest for the last week. I’m fine.”

 

“At least wait until the Colonel comes back. I’m sure he’ll have orders for all of us.”

 

That seemed to get through to her. “Yeah, okay. You’re right. Any chance of getting a sandwich? I’m starved.”

 

Alby grinned, grabbed a passing orderly, made damn sure the man actually went to get the sandwich, and then said so long to Anny and went to work on the comconsole. _Mobile Planetary Defense Centers… never even heard of the damn things! Where to look for information…?_

But he’d barely gotten started when Fetherbay returned and called everyone to attention. His face looked grim, but resolute. “Gentlemen,” he said, “we’ve got our marching orders. The enemy has given us a nasty surprise—although not as nasty as it might have been, thanks to the efforts of some of our people. Nevertheless, this attack finds our forces badly out of position. The bulk of our fleet is four days away and most of the Alliance ground and air forces are also scattered all over the planet. It is our belief that the enemy intends to strike directly toward the capital of Araxa.” He paused and looked over the assembled officers.

 

“Right now, the only thing standing in their way is the Sixty-First.” A chill went down Alby’s spine. _One regiment against a brigade? And against that MPDC-thingy?_ “General Vordanov has ordered us to fight a delaying action to buy as much time as possible. Our mission is to prevent the enemy from reaching Araxa. Reinforcements will be sent to us as quickly as possible, but for at least the first few hours of the battle, we will be on our own. I will be asking each man to do his utmost. I know that I can count on all of you to uphold the honor of the Regiment and the Empire.” He paused and looked them over. “As I said, each man will be needed, including all of us. Regimental Headquarters will take the field with the men we have the honor to command. Gentlemen… _armor up!”_

 

A sort of low growl spread through the room. Several men pumped their fists and shouted. Others started to move. _My armor, where the hell’s my armor…?_ Alby hadn’t had his armor on in months. Where… oh yes, they had converted the grandee’s carriage house behind the mansion into an armory. His suit was there. He got up from his chair.

 

Fetherbay was turning away, but Anny jumped up and got his attention. “Permission to rejoin my company, sir?” she asked. The Colonel seemed to hesitate, but Anny persisted. “Please, sir, you’re going to need every hand for this—and my men need me.”

 

Finally, Fetherbay nodded. “Very well. Carry on, Lieutenant. Good luck… and thank you.” Anny saluted and hurried away, sparing Alby just a smile and a nod and then she was gone.

 

A chill went through him as the thought that he might never see her again took shape in his brain. _Damn…_

“Come on, Alby, armor up!” A hand slapped his shoulder and he saw that it was Hopkins. The man wore a grin on his face and seemed excited. What the hell was he smiling for? _Doesn’t he realize what’s going to happen?_ No, he probably didn’t. An awful lot of the regimental staff had no direct combat experience. The nightmare on Dounby had cured Alby of all desire for further military glory, but many of his fellows had been itching to get out with the line companies. _They’ll get their chance today!_

 

He followed the crowd out the rear door and into the armory. The rows of battle armor stood in their racks like sentinels. He found his own suit, peeled off his uniform and underclothes and stuffed them into the small locker next to the armor. He took out the skin-tight undersuit from that same locker and squirmed his way into it. Then he placed his hand flat against the ID pad on the suit and after a moment it identified him and the rear opened up so he could get in. He climbed up and then slid himself, feet first, into the armored enclosure. He struggled for a moment with the plumbing connection, but got it done and then quickly ran through the pre-operation checklist. Satisfied that everything was functioning, he activated the neural interface and became one with his armor. The rear panels closed up and he stepped backwards out of the storage rack.

 

Most of the others were already gone and he followed them back to the main HQ building. A crowd had formed in the open area behind the structure. Several lift trucks were parked there and enlisted men were carrying armloads of computers and other articles out of the building and packing them into the vehicles. With a shock Alby realized that they were evacuating. Yeah… yeah, if this turned out as bad as it looked, the town might well get overrun. Fetherbay emerged from a rear door, in his own armor, giving orders right and left. The staff gathered around him.

 

“Gentlemen,” he said, “we’ll be moving to join the rest of the regiment shortly. While it’s technically possible for us to direct things from here, _this_ battle will be led from the front. The quartermaster section will oversee the removal of any vital materials from headquarters; the provost will maintain order in the town and see to the evacuation of any critical civilian personnel.” He paused as the Regimental Sergeant Major, a grizzled veteran names Astin, emerged from the HQ carrying a long, thin object wrapped in a cloth cover. He was headed for one of the lift vans.

 

“Sergeant Major!” said Fetherbay.

 

“Sir?” Astin halted.

 

“Don’t put that with the rest, Sergeant Major; we’ll be needing that today.”

 

“Sir?” With the visor of his armor open, Alby could clearly see the confusion on the man’s face.

 

“Uncase the colors.”

 

The man’s armored heels clanged together and the look of confusion became one of incredible pride. “Sir!” he shouted. He tore off the cloth wrapping and shook out the folds of the regimental colors. The blue and gold and red shone in the bright sunlight. He hoisted it high and Alby sucked in his breath. Carrying the colors into battle… that hadn’t been done for a century or more.

 

_But yes, if ever there was time for it…_

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Anny leapt from the scout flier she’d commandeered to get back to her camp. The place looked deserted although the security fences were still active. The pilot of the flyer called something after her, but she didn’t catch it above the howl of the turbines. The howl took on a higher pitch and she knew the flyer was leaving. She didn’t look back. It didn’t matter: an armored trooper couldn’t fit inside the thing anyway.

 

And she was desperate to become an armored trooper again!

 

She sprinted to the armory and sighed in relief when it accepted her palm print and let her in. All during the short trip here she’d worried that some idiot had taken her off the authorized list just because she’d been captured. But she was in, and her armor was standing there all alone. No, there was one more suit all the way down at the end—who did that belong to? She had no time to puzzle over that! She stripped off the stealth suit she’d still been wearing and pulled out the undersuit for the armor. A startled exclamation made her spin around.

 

“Who the hell is… oh shit! Lieutenant Payne!” Standing in the doorway of the armory was Sergeant Mikail Wood. The man was leaning on a crutch and his face was bright crimson. “Sorry sir!” Anny realized that she was stark naked and she held the undersuit up in front of her, more for Wood’s sake than her own modesty. “You… you’re back!” he cried, embarrassment turning to joy.

 

“Yeah, managed to get away a few hours ago. But what are you… did they leave you to watch things here in camp?”

 

Wood’s face fell. The man had lost a leg in action months before, and his newly grown replacement had only been surgically attached a few weeks ago. He was only fit for light duty. “Yeah, the Captain said… but hey, I don’t suppose you could order me to come along, could you, Lieutenant?” Anny hesitated. Technically there was absolutely no reason Wood couldn’t operate his battle armor at full effectiveness. It wasn’t like the old suits, where the wearer had to actually move his arms and legs to make the suit respond. With the neural interface it all happened in the user’s brain and it didn’t really matter if he even had arms or legs. Wood was obviously eager to go, but someone ought to stay and watch over things…

 

“Please, Lieutenant, don’t leave me behind! From what I hear, the boys are in for a helluva fight! Don’t leave me behind!”

 

Anny had nearly been left behind once. She remembered how much it had hurt. _And we’re going to need every man today!_

 

“To hell with the camp. Armor up, Sergeant.”

 

The man gave a whoop and limped past her to get to his suit. She put on her undersuit, hoisted herself into her armor and did the pre-check in record time. The instant she made the neural connection she called up the tactical display and breathed a small sigh of relief. The Regiment wasn’t engaged yet. They had successfully pulled back behind a ridgeline as Fetherbay had ordered, and put it between themselves and the EnBee forces disgorging from the volcano. She still had time to get back to her platoon. She stepped out of the rack…

 

“Lieutenant? Lieutenant, can you help me?” She looked down the room and saw Sergeant Wood leaning against his armor. She trotted over to him and saw that while he’d managed to get his undersuit on, the climb up into his armor was proving impossible with his leg. The man’s face was pale with pain and dripping with sweat.

 

“You sure you want to do this, Mikail?”

 

“Just… just help me into this damn thing and I’ll be fine, sir.”

 

“Okay, here we go.” She carefully gripped him between her gauntlets and lifted him up and slid him into the suit. He had no more trouble after that, and was soon up and running. Anny retrieved her war hammer from its holder while Wood grabbed his own close-combat weapon, a mono-molecular-edged battle axe. Both of them might prove very useful against lightly armored vehicles. They trotted back out into the compound.

 

“So how d’you want to catch up with the company, Lieutenant? They look to be about twenty klicks off to the northwest. I guess we could just run if we have to.”

 

“That would take half-an-hour,” replied Anny. “I don’t think we’re going to have that long. Let’s see if we can hitch a ride with someone.” While she had been waiting for Wood to finish with his armor, she’d been studying the tactical display. The Regiment had nearly completed its assembly, but there were still a few shuttles bringing men and equipment up from the rear. She spotted one just lifting off from Milagres and linked her com to the pilot. “Shuttle MV61-42, request pick-up from camp 1C. This is an emergency request, over.”

 

“Negative,” came the reply, “we are transporting medical personnel to the forward treatment area. Priority flight.”

 

“Identify yourself, pilot,” snapped Anny.

 

“Uh, Flight Officer Malikov.” Good, she outranked him as she’d expected.

 

“Well, Flight Officer Malikov, this is Lieutenant Payne and you _will_ pick us up! Colonel Fetherbay’s direct order,” she lied boldly.

 

There was short pause and then: “Uh, okay, Lieutenant. Got your beacon. ETA one minute.”

 

Wood grinned at her. “Nice move, sir.”

 

“You just have to know how to reason with them, Sergeant.”

 

As promised, the shuttle set down just about a minute later and they piled aboard and were airborne in seconds. _Piled_ , was the proper word, too. The shuttle was already packed with medical gear and Anny and Wood found themselves perched awkwardly on top of some of it. Cryo-pods Anny grimly realized. A half-dozen medics looked at them curiously. They were all male, of course; despite Anny’s example, women in the medical services were still restricted to the rear areas. _There might not be any rear areas today. I hope Chris is okay._

 

“We’ll be landing in 90 seconds,” announced the pilot. “They just declared the whole forward area is now an air defense threat zone, so we’ll be coming in low and hot! Hang on everyone!” Anny checked her tactical display and saw that the enemy MPDC had now emerged from its hiding place. Swarms of smaller vehicles surrounded it. Any flyer in their line of sight would blasted from the sky in moments. There was still a small safe zone where the regiment was assembling due to the intervening ridge, but that was going to disappear very soon. There would be no air support for this fight.

 

The shuttle banked sharply and then settled abruptly. It grounded with a thud and the doors swung open. Anny and Wood leapt out.

 

“C Company is over that way! Let’s go!”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Tej had mostly gotten over her anger at being relegated to a hostess by the time Ivan Xav rejoined her. She’d managed to get food and drink for Russo Gupta and the boy, Paulo, and she’d found that she was surprisingly hungry and eaten a sandwich, herself. The sight of her husband made the rest of the anger melt away. He was safe! He was back! But they were going to have words later. The independence and drive she’d found in herself during the emergency was not just going to disappear again. From now on, she was going to be a member of the team with Ivan Xav, not just an accessory to him! She thought about how her mother and grandmother handled themselves. She was going to have to have a talk with them, too—to get some pointers.

 

“So what’s happening?” she asked. Shortly after they’d gotten their food, all the Barrayaran personnel in the mess facility had hurried away and vanished, leaving the three of them alone in the dining room. She’d heard shouts and noises in the distance.

 

“Looks like a major battle is shaping up. Colonel Fetherbay has ordered us out of here. The town might be right in the path of the EnBee attack.” He looked around at the deserted room. “Come on, we need to get out of here.”

 

They got up and followed him through a long hallway to the back of the building. The noise got louder as they neared the door and several armored troopers thundered down the steps from an upper floor, their arms filled with boxes. The open area behind the building was swarming with soldiers and vehicles. They threaded their way through the crowd, Tej holding on to the boy’s hand. “Where are we going?” he demanded. Tej didn’t answer. It was easy to find the colonel with all the men around him taking orders, but somewhat harder to get his attention. But the crowd was dispersing as the men were set off to their tasks. Finally, Fetherbay noticed them.

 

“Ah, Lord Vorpatril, Lady Vorpatril” he said. “We’ll be getting you out of here shortly. You can board that flyer, over there,” He pointed at a sleek air vehicle parked off to one side.

 

“Thank you, Colonel,” said Ivan Xav. “And good luck.” Fetherbay just nodded. They headed toward the flyer, but Paulo suddenly held back.

 

“Where are we going?”

 

“Uh, somewhere safe,” said Tej.

 

“Off the island?”

 

“I expect so. There’s going to be a battle and it might be dangerous to stay.”

 

“But what about my mama? My sister?” The boy’s eyes had grown very wide.

 

“Oh dear…” Had anyone even thought to inform the kid’s family that he had been rescued?

 

“What’s wrong?” asked Ivan Xav. The boy knew some English, but they’d both been talking in Portuguese.

 

“He’s worried about his family. Can we possibly take them, too?”

 

“You’ve got to be kidding!” cried Gupta.

 

“Hell, I’d forgotten about them. They were nearly all he talked about while we were prisoners.” Ivan Xav looked around and then reversed course and took them back to the colonel. The man looked at them in surprise, with a trace of annoyance.

 

“My lord?”

 

“Sorry, Colonel, the boy’s family, can we evacuate them, too?”

 

“Lord Vorpatril, there’s no time. Can’t you just let the boy go home?” Fetherbay was clearly exasperated.

 

“Turn him loose in the middle of a battle?” cried Tej. “We can’t do that!”

 

“I won’t go without Mama and Sis!” exclaimed Paulo.

 

“Colonel,” said Ivan Xav firmly, “without Paulo’s help we never would have gotten out of that base. The Empire owes a debt of honor to the boy.”

 

Fetherbay’s face was turning red, but he snarled: “All right!” He looked around and then shouted: “Vorsworth! Benin!” Two armored troopers trotted up. One was Alby Vorsworth, but Tej didn’t know the other one, a young officer who, to her considerable surprise, wore a Cetagandan sigil on one cheek. What was a Cetagandan doing with a Barrayaran unit?

 

“Sir?” they both said.

 

“Gentlemen, headquarters has placed a top priority on the evacuation of these civilians. However, two additional…” he stopped and turned to look at Ivan Xav. “Two? It is just two, correct? No aunts, uncles or third cousins?” Ivan looked at Tej and Tej looked at Paulo.

 

“Y-yeah, just my mama and sis; everyone else is gone.”

 

“Just the two, sir,” said Ivan Xav.

 

Fetherbay turned back to his officers. “There are two other civilians who need to be located and evacuated with the others. You will _personally_ deliver them to BEF headquarters in Araxa. Understood?”

 

“What?” cried Vorsworth. “Sir, you can’t…!”

 

“I have no time to argue! You have your orders, now carry them out!”

 

Both young men looked stricken. Were they so eager to fight? Fetherbay was turning away, but Vorsworth called out: “Can we rejoin once we’ve gotten them out, sir?”

 

“Yes. If you can.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Alby watched the Colonel walk away. He couldn’t believe this. _Left behind? I’m being left behind?_ He had no desire to fight, but to be left behind—sent away! Just to babysit some damn…

 

“Where are these civilians?” demanded Rad Benin. “We must act quickly.” He looked just as pissed off as Alby, but for other reasons, no doubt: Rad had been nagging the Colonel to let him get into combat almost from the day they’d gotten here. Fetherbay, no doubt wary of getting an important Cetagandan killed, had refused.

 

“Right… right!” If they could get this done fast, maybe they could still get back in time. He looked at Vorpatril. “Where are they?”

 

The man shrugged in an infuriating fashion. “Beats me. Don’t you have an address…? Paulo, where are your mother and sister?”

 

“At home,” said the boy. “I can take you there.”

 

“What’s the street address?” demanded Alby. The boy provided it and he called it up on a map of the city. Good, not too far away. “Come on Rad, let’s go get them.” He started to turn…

 

“Wait!” cried Lady Vorpatril. “You’re not just going go grab those poor people, are you?”

 

“What else?”

 

“You’ll scare them out of their minds. Take Paulo with you!”

 

Alby frowned. “I don’t know…”

 

“How will you even identify them?”

 

“Oh. Well, you’ve got a point there. Want to take a ride, kid?” Lady Vorpatril explained what they wanted to do and the kid agreed enthusiastically. Alby positioned his left arm to form a sort of saddle and locked it in place. The boy could sit there and wrap his arms partway around Alby’s neck. He hoisted him aboard, checked that he was secure, activated his suit’s anti-grav and thrusters and leaped out of the courtyard, Rad right behind him.

The boy squealed—first in alarm, and then in delight—as they soared over the square and landed on the rooftop of the library. Another leap and they were a block away. You could cover a lot of ground like this as long as no one was shooting at you. Trying to do this on a battlefield would draw so much fire it would be suicide. But here only speed mattered and in a short time they floated to a halt in the street outside a small apartment building. Startled civilians retreated a distance and then gawked.

 

“In here?” asked Alby, pointing. He’d activated the auto-translator in his armor and he hoped Paulo could understand. The boy gushed out some words which the translator interpreted as: _Indeed yes, this is the abode of my mother and sibling._

 

“What room? How do we find them?”

 

In response, Paulo began to shout at the top of his lungs: _Mama! Mama!_ Their sudden arrival had already started to draw a crowd and people were looking out windows, too. Within seconds an answering shout came from above. A woman was leaning halfway out her window and screaming at Paulo. Then she pulled back inside and just moments later she and a younger girl emerged from the front door. Paulo threw himself into her arms and they clutched each other and cried.

 

“Very well, we have located them,” said Rad. “Now let’s get them back to the flier.”

 

“Uh, Paulo, we need to go,’ said Alby. “Paulo? _Paulo!_ ” After several tries, he got the boy’s attention and he started jabbering at his mother. The woman was completely distracted and didn’t seem to be listening. Alby took a step forward and gently tapped her on the shoulder with an armored finger. The woman glanced at him and began gushing _thank yous_ , but didn’t seem to grasp what he was demanding. Engaging the translator, he pointed at Paulo, the woman and the girl and then in the direction of headquarters and said as forcefully as possible, that they all had to go. The woman looked bewildered and when Paulo confirmed the need to go, she looked fearful and then started backing away, holding her son and fumbling for her daughter with her free hand.

 

“We do not have time for this!” snapped Rad. “Take the children, I will take the woman.”

 

“Rad…”

 

But the Cetagandan was already moving. He pulled Paulo out of his mother’s grasp with irresistible strength and handed him to Alby. The woman started to scream, but Rad just slung her over his shoulder and bounded away. Shaking his head, Alby scooped up the shrieking girl and followed.

 

Except for all the screaming, the trip back went like the trip out. They hadn’t been gone more than ten minutes, but the HQ was now virtually deserted. On his tactical display, he could see the icons for Fetherbay and the staff heading toward where the Regiment was gathered. But the flier was still waiting with the Vorpatrils.

 

“They don’t really need two escorts,” ventured Alby as he bounced down beside Rad.

 

“They don’t need any escorts at all, but we have been given direct orders to provide one.”

 

“One will do. Rad, why don’t you take them…?” Benin glared at him. “Nobody’s going to care if we both go!”

 

“Probably not. But as for who stays to rejoin the regiment… I will fight you for the honor, if you insist.”

 

Alby sighed, knowing the challenge was only half in jest. “Okay, okay, we both go. Come on.”

 

They deposited the civilians, willing and unwilling, into the flier. Paulo’s mother and sister were still shrieking and Lady Vorpatril tried to calm them down. The pilot started yelling at them, too: “About time! The enemy is extending an air interdiction zone over the island and it’s almost here! Another minute or two and we’d be walking to Araxa!”

 

_Shit, if we’d just delayed a few more minutes…_

 

But the flier lifted off and staying very low, streaked southward over the harbor and toward the mainland.

 

“The regiment has engaged,” announced Rad.

 

Alby switched back to his tactical display. A mass of red icons was pouring over the ridge to where a line of blue ones awaited them. He managed to tie into a visual display being sent from a recon drone. The long crest of the ridge was erupting in flame and smoke. He clenched his fists. His friends were in battle, in danger! And here he was, heading in the opposite direction! Where was Anny? Had she gotten back to C Company? What about Jer? Did he know Anny was there, too? Patric? Sven? Would he see any of them again? Suddenly there were tears on his cheeks.

 

Both sides were putting out jamming now and the image from the drone began to break up as they got farther away.

 

The last thing Alby saw before he lost the signal was a tiny blue and red and gold rectangle advancing toward the flames.

 

 

 

**Chapter 28**

 

Anny found C Company just a few minutes before the enemy did.

 

The regiment had been deployed behind a low ridge that shielded them from where the EnBees were debouching from their base. Anny had been wondering if it would have been smarter to engage them while they were trying to deploy, hit them before they could get organized, before they were ready. But no, without knowing more of the enemy’s capabilities that might have led to disaster. There could be weapons built into the volcano itself, remotely activated minefields, and God knew what else. And then there was the MPDC; they had no clue of its capabilities. It clearly had formidable anti-ship weaponry, but could those weapons be turned against ground targets? A gravitic imploder lance could shear off the top of that ridge and annihilate anything standing on it. No, their mission was to delay the enemy, buy as much time as they could to let the Alliance forces concentrate. A sudden attack by the regiment might win the battle at a stroke, but it could lose it at a stroke just as easily and then the EnBees could just stroll into Araxa. The Colonel had made the right call.

 

Their battle line was about ten kilometers long, which meant the men were crammed together in a formation that was practically shoulder to shoulder for assault troopers. They had a hell of a concentration of firepower—but then so did the enemy. 1st Battalion was posted on the left of the line, but with the rifle companies posted A, B, C, from left to right, C Company was snugly placed close to the center. No open flanks for once—good. 2nd Battalion—and Jer—were on the right, and 3rd was in the center with one of its companies held in reserve.

 

The area was mostly farmland with a few woods and orchards scattered here and there with houses and barns interspersed. Small groups of civilians were fleeing southward past them as she and Sergeant Wood bounded in the opposite direction toward C Company. She activated her external speakers and shouted at them to hurry and don’t stop for anything. She just hoped the EnBees weren’t desperate enough to use nukes against ground targets. That might have turned the whole civilized galaxy against them, but it would be small comfort for the scorched remains of these civilians—and the 61st. _Even without nukes, this place is going to be an inferno any minute!_

 

A few moments later, they passed through groups of the local militia troops who were still moving into position. They looked young, scared, and horribly vulnerable. Nothing but their thin ballistic vests stood between them and sudden death. Anny hoped that there would be no need to commit them, but she knew it was unlikely that they’d be able to stay out of it.

 

They reached the C Company deployment area and she reported in to Captain Vorstang, who sounded very harried, but also glad to see her back. She bounded to her platoon and took over from Ensign Milroy, who also seemed very glad to see her. In fact, the whole platoon shouted greeting to her over the com despite the standing orders for no non-business chatter. Sergeant Wood was welcomed back just as warmly.

 

But there was no time for any more than that. “Heads up!” commanded Vorstang. “Here they come! Weapons free, fire when you have a target.”

 

Indeed, the icons on the tactical display were creeping up to the crest of the ridge. Another minute or so and the fun would begin. Anny activated her platoon circuit. “Okay, everyone, just like a drill. Pick your targets carefully, leave the fully shielded bogies to the men with the mass-drivers if you can. Use cover and reposition frequently. Preserve your own shields—you’re sure to need them later. Good luck.” She switched to the private circuit with her platoon sergeant. “Sorry, I’m late, Sergeant. Everything good with the boys?”

 

“Better late than never, sir—lots better!” replied Sergeant Kay. “The boys are just fine, sir. A few of the new lads are a bit overeager, but I’ve got some of the veterans looking after them to make sure they don’t get into trouble.”

 

“Good. We can’t afford to lose anyone unnecessarily. Not today. And you watch out for yourself, too. You hear me, Malcom?” There was a bit of a pause before he replied. She’d never called him by his first name before.

 

“Uh, yes sir. But begging your pardon, you’re a fine one to be telling _others_ to watch out for…”

 

“Incoming fire!”

 

Anny instinctively ducked, but she instantly saw that the threat was from indirect fire. The EnBees had paused just behind the ridge and let loose with a barrage of missiles, mortars and artillery. The projectiles were arcing up and over and down—right on the 61st. She was about to shout to her men to take cover when another message came through on the general circuit:

 

“All units assume air-defense mode. Engaging!”

 

Her armor suddenly started moving on its own. She, and everyone else in the regiment, had been transformed into an air-defense turret. A central computer at HQ had decided to add the firepower of the infantry to its own resources. Her plasma arc swung skyward and started blasting away at something. Everyone around her was doing the same thing.

 

The sky, which until a moment ago had been a pleasant blue with fluffy white clouds, was now filled with crisscrossing energy bolts and exploding ordnance. The air defense platoons were firing their own lasers and mass drivers but the entire regiment was joining in and with that much firepower, the EnBee salvos were being swatted out of the air before they could do much harm.

 

Not much harm—but not none, either.

 

A few projectiles were eluding the defenses and while most of the ordnance was simple high explosive, some of them had more sophisticated terminal guidance motors which turned them into tiny hunter-killer missiles. A handful of men from the regiment became casualties—none from C Company, fortunately, although there were several explosions close by.

 

Anny looked at her tactical display worriedly. She wasn’t happy about having her armor co-opted like this. While it was effective, it also left you standing out in the open like a clay pigeon if something other than artillery was shooting at you. It wouldn’t be long before the EnBees realized they were wasting ammunition and came boiling over the ridge. They needed to be ready for that.

 

Indeed, after a few more seconds, the enemy started moving again. Anny wasn’t sure why they’d expended all that ordnance. Perhaps they didn’t know the regiment could do what it did. Maybe they’d just screwed up. That was a pleasant thought. Who was in command over there? That General Way-too-many-titles? What sort of combat experience did he have? How badly had her escape upset his plans? That was an even more pleasant thought.

 

“Disengage from air defense mode. Prepare to engage enemy ground forces.” Anny blinked. The voice was a different one. Not the sir defense officer. It sounded like… _Fetherbay_? “Good luck to you all. Remember that Barrayar’s eyes are on you today. For the Emperor!”

 

_For the Emperor!_

Anny roared it out with all the rest, her skin tingling.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Okay, here they come,” said Jer Naddel. “Looks like they are sending in a screen of skimmers first. Hold your fire and leave those to the infantry. They’re just trying to get us to reveal ourselves so they can call in artillery on us. Wait for the heavier stuff to expose itself. You hear me, Sergeant Pasquale?” The man commanding the number two heavy mass driver was notoriously trigger happy.

 

“Sure, Lieutenant, no problem,” came Pasquale’s reply. “I’ll have plenty of good targets today, I’m thinking.”

 

“That’s for sure,” muttered Jer. “But make every shot count.” _Because we probably won’t get too many._ That was the big problem, of course: Jer’s heavy weapons were devastatingly effective, so the enemy would go to great pains to knock them out as quickly as they could locate them. They had found as much cover and concealment as they could in the limited time they’d had to get ready, but it wasn’t going to be enough he warranted. He switched circuits to speak to his platoon sergeant. “You get those mines and missile launchers handed out, Sarge?”

 

“Yes sir,” replied Shusterman at once. “The boys have as many as they can carry. I stashed all the rest back by that shed.”

 

“Good.” In addition to their heavy guns, the anti-tank platoon had a number of one-shot missile launchers and mines which could either be buried where a vehicle might run over them, or attached directly to a vehicle’s hull if you could get close enough. It was inevitable that they’d lose their big mass drivers before long, but that wouldn’t mean their job was done. Not today. Today they had to be ready to fight to the last.

 

_Last man, last shot, last gasp._

 

A ping came over his com and a tiny light flashed on the edge of his tactical display.

 

“Dammit!” he snarled. It was Anny! He’d set up a special routine to keep track of Anny’s beacon on the battlefield. But she was supposed to be back at HQ! She’d just been rescued from a week’s captivity, what the hell was she doing here? Blast the girl! Didn’t she have any sense?

 

_Last man… last woman, too… as if I need anything else to worry about…_

An explosion near at hand brought his mind back where it belonged. The EnBee skimmer screen had come over the ridge. They were small one-man grav vehicles, fast and agile, meant for scouting. They usually carried plasma arcs and had light shielding. Dangerous, but not worth a shot from his heavy stuff. They were blasting away, apparently at random, as they advanced. A bolt had blown the limb off a tree a dozen meters to his right. _Trying to draw our fire._

 

Meanwhile more artillery was starting to rain down. With the Regiment released from air defense duties, a lot more of the incoming fire was getting through and explosions began to burst all over. But it wasn’t nearly as heavy as those first few salvos had been. The EnBees must have had a lot of one-shot launchers and they’d wasted them. Good.

 

Despite the enemy fire, so far the 61st wasn’t replying. They’d been given permission to fire, but the squad leaders knew enough to wait. A few bolts blasted back at the enemy here and there, fired by nervous replacements, probably, but most knew enough to wait. Wait and let the enemy get a little closer…

 

Jer checked the status of his platoon again to make sure everyone was ready. Unfortunately, he didn’t really have much of a platoon at this point. First and second squads, the ones with the man-portable rail guns, heavy plasma arcs and missile launchers, had all been detached, spread out among the other three companies in the battalion, to beef up their firepower. It was standard procedure, but it left Jer with only the two heavy mass drivers of the third squad plus a half dozen men he’d held back to make a ‘trouble squad’ if he needed them. He knew he probably would. It was really just a sergeant’s command now, but it was his and he was determined that it was going to shine today.

 

Of course, in addition to his own platoon he also had his militia company. With the sudden nature of the crisis, the higher-ups didn’t have any specific plan to use the militia, so they’d simply told the troops to tag along with the Barrayaran officer who had been training them. Right now Sergeant Flora Levine and the rest of them were huddled in a drainage ditch about 800 meters to his rear. He hoped they were keeping their heads down with all the artillery coming in. He _really_ hoped he wasn’t going to have to throw them into this fight. They didn’t have the equipment, training or mindset for a stand-up battle like this. He clicked over to the circuit that would allow him to speak to Levine. “Sergeant? How are you doing back there?”

 

“We are fine, sir,” came the immediate reply. “Well, one of the men in second platoon got a cut on his shoulder from shrapnel, but it’s bandaged up and he is fine, too. Some of the shelling has come close. This is all very exciting, sir! Do you need us to come forward?”

 

“Not yet. Stay there and wait for my call.”

 

“Yes, sir.” Jer could hear the disappointment in her voice. Did she think this was some sort of damn game?

 

“You stay put, Flora! I mean it! You will see plenty of action, I promise. But stay where you are for right now. Understand?”

 

“Yes sir.”

 

“Getting close, sir,” said Sergeant Shusterman, breaking in.

 

“Right. Gotta go.”

 

The skimmers were well over the crest of the ridge now and coming on fast. The next wave of vehicles had fallen behind and were just now reaching the top. For a few moments the skimmers had no support.

 

The troopers saw it and took advantage. Fire erupted all along the line. Plasma arcs and rail guns mostly, but a few missiles as well. The upper portion of the ridge disappeared in clouds of dust and smoke. At least to the naked eye it disappeared. To the sophisticated sensors available to Jer, he could see exactly what was happening. EnBee skimmers were exploding right and left or tumbling end over end as the regiment’s fire tore into them. He zoomed the view in using the armor’s telescopic sights and he could see that some of the drivers were flinging themselves off the vehicles in mid-air, apparently in hopes of escaping into some concealing hole in the ground. _Well, they wanted to know where we were. Now they know!_

 

The enemy artillery started coming heavier again and it was much better aimed now, pounding the positions the fire had come from. Not much hit in Jer’s vicinity since they hadn’t fired yet, but that was about to change. Larger EnBee vehicles had crested the ridge and were adding their fire to that of the artillery, trying to root out the 61st’s infantry. A squadron of light tanks appeared along the skyline a little to his right and about 2000 meters away. _There_ were some targets worth a shot!

 

“Okay, we’re open for business! Third platoon pick two targets per gun, only two! Fire on my command and then scoot! Displace to your secondary positions immediately! Don’t stand around to admire your work! Signal me when you are ready.”

 

It was only a few seconds before both guns reported that they had their targets.

 

“Ready… _fire!_ ”

 

The mass drivers gave off four thunderbolt cracks so closely spaced as to seem one long detonation. Streaks of bright red light—the vaporizing outer layer of the rounds—briefly linked the guns to their targets. The enemy tanks had plasma mirrors, but the mass drivers weren’t firing plasma. They also had conventional force screens, which could stop or deflect smaller sized projectiles. But they weren’t strong enough to stop what hit them now. The rounds tore through the force screens and then tore through the thin armor plating behind. Three of the four tanks exploded and the fourth spun around, spewing smoke, and then crashed into a tree.

 

The gunners already had their pieces on the move, sliding them back into a gully which gave them defilade and then floating them off to their secondary firing positions a few hundred meters to the right. It was smartly done and a damn good thing, too. A storm of fire descended on the position they had just left, tearing the trees and brush to flaming shreds and tossing gouts of earth skyward. Jer hurried ahead of his troops to guide them into place.

 

The enemy tanks had regrouped and were trying to rush forward, perhaps thinking to catch Jer’s men on the move. They might have, too, except they ran into the men of G Company who were dug in a few hundred meters in advance of the gun line. The more lightly armed troopers were still a threat to the tanks and they were forced to a halt as plasma and missile fire erupted, seemingly out of the ground. Two more tanks were knocked out, but the rest were blasting back at their tormentors.

 

“Come on! Come on!” cried Jer. “Those boys need our help!” The grav sleds of the mass drivers coasted up into their new positions. “Fire at will! Let ‘em have it!”

 

Sergeant Pasquale’s gun was ready first and blew the turret off an enemy tank with one shot. The other gun claimed a victim a few seconds later. This was too much for the EnBees and they retreated as quickly as they could, losing three more of their number before they found cover. Jer’s troops gave a cheer.

 

“Save it, you lunks!” snapped Sergeant Shusterman. “This party’s barely begun!”

 

Jer looked at the mass of red dots on his tactical display and knew that his platoon sergeant was right.

 

_It’s gonna be a long day._

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

The flier bounced to a hard landing on one of the pads of the enormous base near the city of Araxa. Alby slapped the hatch release and motioned Lord Vorpatril, his wife, Russo Gupta, and the three other civvies forward. “Okay, you should be safe here. Get clear of the vehicle and I’ll see you later!” he snapped, resisting the urge to just grab the people and toss them out. They had to get moving!

 

“Thank you, Lieutenant…” began Lady Vorpatril as she stepped down onto the concrete, but he had already hit the button to close the hatch and turned away.

 

“Personnel delivered as ordered!” he shouted to the pilot. “Get this crate moving, ensign! Back to Tamborete!”

 

“Sorry, Lieutenant, no can do,” answered the pilot. “The whole island has been declared an interdiction zone. Nothing’s flying in or out.”

 

“Damn it!” snarled Alby thumping his way into the cockpit. He loomed over the pilot, who cringed back slightly, squeezing himself down into his seat. “I gave you an order, Ensign. Just get us close.”

 

“Sir! I can’t do it!” protested the man. “That damn… _thing_ the enemy’s got will blow us out of the sky before we could even get there! It’s already knocked down two of our shuttles who didn’t get clear in time!”

 

“If you stayed low…” persisted Alby.

 

“To get low enough I’d need a submarine, not a flier. It’d be suicide, sir!”

 

“The ensign is right, Alby,” said Rad Benin coming up behind him. “To get back there we would have to swim.”

 

“Then we’ll swim! Damn it, Rad! Our friends are getting killed over there!”

 

“I am well aware of that.” The tone in Rad’s voice was as close to angry as Alby had ever heard. The man had been itching to prove his courage in combat and now he was missing out again. Alby didn’t give a damn about proving anything, but Anny and Jer and Patric were back there in what was going to be a desperate battle. He belonged there with them!

 

“But to try to return using just our armor would take hours,” continued Rad. “We would be far too late.”

 

“We’ve got to do something, damn it!”

 

“Perhaps we can be of use here. The battle may well come to us in the end. We should report in to headquarters.”

 

Alby slammed his armored fist against the bulkhead, making a sizable dent. The pilot sank even lower in his seat. Rad took hold of Alby’s arm and pulled. “Come. Let’s go.”

 

Alby let loose a stream of profanity, but eventually followed the Cetagandan out of the vehicle. Vorpatril and the others were walking across the huge expanse of concrete toward the headquarters buildings in the distance. They quickly overtook them and then slowed their pace to match. “Stuck here, eh?” said Vorpatril, glancing at Alby.

 

“Yeah,” grumped Alby. “No way to get back!”

 

“Well, come with us. I’ve got to report in to the big brass. Maybe General Vordanov will have some orders for you—I’m damn well sure Vorpinski will have some for me!”

 

“They better not be orders that take you back into danger!” said Lady Vorpatril forcefully. “You just got out of danger!” Her husband just shrugged. Alby stared at the man for a moment. According to Alby’s father, while Vorpatril was a competent enough officer, he was well-known for a love of easy-living and a general lack of the martial qualities that most Vor romanticized. And yet… and yet the look on his face at this moment was that of a man who wanted to strike a blow. _He’s just as pissed as I am._

 

“Any chance I can get off this ball of dirt?” asked Gupta. “I need to report to the Admiral.” Now there was a… man with no desire to strike a blow. _Well, none of his friends are in danger._

 

As they neared the HQ, they could see the place was stirred up like a nest of bees. People running this way and that, all talking loudly and waving their hands. A level of bedlam that made the chaos back at regimental HQ look serene by comparison. _Everyone got caught with their pants down._

Alby and Benin made full use of their battle armor to effortlessly push through the mob to the main situation room. There, amidst a forest of holo-displays, they found the top commanders of the Alliance; not just the Barrayaran bigwigs, but the Cetagandans, Earthers, Polians, everyone. Several sentries made a half-hearted attempt to block their entry until Vorpatril identified himself and they were waved through—even the kids, their mother, and Gupta. The place had already been crowded, now it was packed.

 

Vorpatril, trailed by his wife, squeezed through the throng in search of his boss. Alby and Rad just stood and looked over the holo displays. He didn’t like what they were showing him. The main one was focused on the battle unfolding on the island of Tamborete. A thin line of blue icons was standing against a much larger swarm of red ones. It looked like a rickety dam trying to hold back a flood. One bigger red icon, the MPDC, was still well to the rear; it did not look as though it had moved away from the extinct volcano. _Maybe it’s not mobile yet; Anny said they were still working on it. Or maybe it’s just stuck…_

 

Other screens were showing the efforts to gather the far-flung and scattered forces of the Alliance and bring them back to Araxa. A surprising number of them appeared to be under attack. “The EnBees have committed everything they have,” said Rad. “All their hidden forces. They are trying to delay our concentration.”

 

“Yeah, damn them. Look, the 26th has got more bogies than a dog has fleas.” The other assault regiment in the BEF was heavily engaged halfway around the planet. They wouldn’t be arriving here any time soon.

 

“The enemy is putting everything on one throw of the dice. If they don’t succeed, their forces here are going to be crushed. They will lose the war at a blow.”

 

“Assuming _we_ don’t lose the war at a blow instead.”

 

“That is the danger, yes.”

 

“What about the damn navy? If the 61st could just get some orbital fire support!”

 

Rad pointed to a cluster of officers in blue and black navy uniforms who were studying another group of displays. They moved to get a better look and Alby was surprised to see the angry face of Admiral Quinn of the Dendarii Free Mercenaries on one of the smaller displays.

 

“There must be something you can do!” snapped a man wearing a Polian uniform. “We’re certainly paying you enough!”

 

“You saw what happened to that frigate, didn’t you, commodore?” she answered with some heat. “I’ve got a few heavier ships here, but not heavy enough to tangle with that thing! What you need are some battleships. A shame none of yours are around.”

 

“You know perfectly well why they aren’t!”

 

“Yeah, because you got suckered just like all the rest of us!”

 

Another officer, it looked like one of the Earthers, cut off the Polian’s angry retort. “We understand that you dare not engage the MPDC, Admiral Quinn, but we could use your ships to help out our other forces elsewhere on the planet. If we can free up some of them, we can reinforce the Barrayaran troops on Tamborete.”

 

Quinn took a breath and her expression smoothed out. “Now you’re talking sense! And it’s what I suggested doing in the first place, as you’ll recall. Give me some targets and I’ll get my people moving.” This immediately brought a flurry of suggestions and demands that Quinn seemed hard-pressed to process. Naval support would definitely help the other Alliance forces on the planet, but it wouldn’t bring any immediate aid to the 61st. Alby’s eyes were drawn to another display showing the entire solar system with Novo Paveo at the center. A cluster of blue icons were far off to one side, the Alliance’s main fleet. The vectors on the display said that it was accelerating toward Novo Paveo, but it was still a hell of a long way off. A couple of days, at least. Far, far too late. _Wonder what Isabella is doing right now?_

 

Alby was just about to turn away and go look over some other shoulders when a Barrayaran staff captain hurried up to him. “Vorsworth? General Vordanov is attaching you to his chief of intelligence, Colonel Gasparr. Park your armor somewhere and report to him.”

 

“But…”

 

“That’s an order, Lieutenant; get out of that can before you step on someone’s toes. You get me?”

 

“I… yes, sir.” Alby’s shoulders slumped in defeat. There was no way he could get back to the fight. He might as well try to do some good here. “Come on, Rad, let’s go.”

 

They left their armor standing outside the building. A few minutes of scrounging found them some coveralls to wear over their undersuits and another couple of minutes searching led them to Colonel Gasparr. Alby had met the man once or twice during the bigger staff meetings. Not surprisingly, Gasparr had no time to spare for them. “Find something useful to do,” was all he would say. They moved off.

 

“What do you suggest?” asked Benin.

 

Alby shrugged. “The last order I had before this all blew up was to see if I could find anything about that MPDC monster of the EnBees’. Guess I could carry on with that.”

 

“Sounds like a good idea. Let’s find a comconsole station we can use.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“All right! Third platoon, listen up!” said Anny. “We’re gonna rush that woods and clear it out! Second Squad will provide covering fire; Milroy, you take third squad left and try to flank them. I’ll take first squad up the middle. The EnBees are trying to set up some heavy weapons in there but we’re not going to let them. We won’t be able to hold there long, so be ready to pull out on my order. Got it?”

 

She quickly received affirmative replies from her squad leaders and Ensign Milroy. Their objective was a clump of trees about 400 meters away. Or they had once been trees; most of them were just smoldering trunks, stripped of foliage now by the savage fire that had swept the area. But they still provided some cover and the EnBees were moving in. She glanced at her platoon status display. She’d only lost five men so far, all but one to artillery. Three of the casualties had been evacuated and would probably make it—if anyone made it today—a fourth had been automatically put into cryo by his armor after taking a fatal hit. The fifth… well the fifth was already with the White Battalion.

 

Second Squad was taking up positions to provide covering fire. She’d assigned the job to them because they’d taken the brunt of a firefight a half hour earlier and their plasma mirrors were all pretty low. She wished she could get some fire support from the weapons company, but they were all busy. Major Vorglanov wanted this job done now and she couldn’t wait.

 

She was about to give the command to go when her threat warning alerted her to incoming fire. Artillery. “Everyone down!” she ordered. A wave of explosions marched across her platoon’s position, but they were ineffective. Just HE, none of those damn seeker-heads. Either the EnBee’s were saving those or they’d used them all up. She hoped it was the latter case; her one really-dead man had been killed by one of them.

 

When the fire let up, she made a quick check to see that everyone was still ready. They were.

 

“Let’s go!”

 

Second Squad opened up and she led First out of the ditch they’d been sheltering in. Flat out, a person could run a suit of power armor at speeds close to sixty KPH. She and her troopers did nearly that now and closed the distance to the enemy in less than twenty seconds. Some heavy fire erupted from the woods, but it was clear they’d caught the EnBees off guard. Some plasma splashed off her mirror and one of her men went down, plowing a furrow in the soil as he ground to a halt, but then she was in among the enemy.

 

A man in half-armor appeared in front of her. He was bringing up a mass driver, swinging the barrel in her direction. His armor would have a plasma mirror so she didn’t even bother to fire her plasma arc. She closed on him and brought down her hammer in one swift motion. The pointed end caught the man on his shoulder and tore through the armor, crushing his upper torso. The blow slammed him to the ground and he didn’t move. All around her the other men of First Squad were cutting down the EnBees. Moments later, Milroy appeared with Third Squad and finished the job. At least thirty of the enemy were down and twenty more had surrendered. A half-dozen grav sleds filled with gear and weapons floated there, abandoned. The whole fight hadn’t lasted more than a minute.

 

“All right! Get those prisoners to the rear! Sergeant Rollins, collect all that gear and destroy it. Everyone else take cover but be ready to pull back on my command. Anyone else hurt?” There had been a few minor injuries, but except for Private Conran, nothing serious. A medic was with Conran and while he was alive, he was out of this fight. _We were lucky. But another man gone._ She checked the tactical display and saw that her small charge seemed to be attracting enemy attention. New forces were massing just out of sight and artillery was starting to fall on the position which only a short while ago had belonged to the EnBees. Anny called Captain Vorstang. “Captain? We cleaned them out. You want us to stay here or pull back?”

 

“Good work,” came the reply. “Yes, get out of there before they can hurt you. Things are getting nasty over on the right flank and the Colonel is probably going to have the whole line fall back before much longer. I don’t want you hanging out there when that happens.”

 

Anny refused to let herself think about the right flank being where Jer was, and instead got her troops ready to move. Artillery was falling heavier and several of the prisoners were killed by their own guns on the way to the rear. Private Conran was evacuated and the enemy gear and grav sleds wired for demolition. On her signal the explosives were detonated and her troopers fell back the way they’d come. They attracted some fire, but they made it back with no further casualties. “Nicely done, people,” she told them when they were under cover again. Once out of immediate harm’s way, she took a moment to catch her breath and check the larger scale tactical display. Yeah, the EnBees seemed to be massing their efforts over on the right. There was a lot of pressure all along the line, but it was worst on the right and the line there was already bending back. As she watched, a new batch of graphics appeared outlining a position about two kilometers to the rear on the reverse slopes of another series of hills. The militia units were already moving back there to take up positions where they could provide as much covering fire as possible when the regiment fell back. Some of the heavier equipment was moving with them. She zoomed back in to look at her own section of the line and frowned. C Company’s fall-back position didn’t look nearly as strong as the one they were going to be leaving.

 

On the other hand, they had managed to bloody the EnBees pretty badly and hold them up. She was amazed to see that almost three hours had gone by since the action began. The enemy, either through overconfidence or desperation, had thrown themselves willy-nilly against the 61st without proper preparation or reconnaissance—and they’d paid for it. But now they were operating more cautiously and more professionally. Casualties among the Barrayarans were rising, plasma mirrors were getting low, and heavy weapons were being lost.

 

And there seemed to be no end to the enemy. Scores of burning vehicles and hundreds of dead littered the battlefield, but they just kept on coming. There were still forces exiting the volcano base and the MPDC had yet to come forward. The 61st was getting worn down. How much longer could they hold? At least she wasn’t physically tired. They’d been ordered to dose themselves with Dynatrim and she felt like she could take on all the EnBees by herself. She wondered what the enemy was using? A few of the men she’d blasted down had seemed out of their minds with battle fury. Some armies did use mind-altering combat drugs on their troops; were the EnBees doing that?

 

The anticipated order to fall back was issued and C Company retreated by bounds. Fortunately, the enemy wasn’t pressing them as hotly on this part of the line and they managed to pull it off while only losing two men from the other platoons. As Anny had feared from looking at the map, her new position wasn’t very strong; not enough cover and way too much dead ground out in front for the enemy to mass in. But there was nothing for it; this was their assigned position and they couldn’t move away from it without endangering the troops on either side of them. All she could do was tell her men to dig-in and then make the best of it. Their withdrawal had caught the enemy off guard and opened up a gap, leaving them some breathing space.

 

But that wouldn’t last long.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

“General Vordranov wants to evacuate all of us right away,” said Ambassador Vorpinski. “Before the enemy’s machine can interdict shuttle travel over Araxa as well.”

 

Tej looked between Vorpinski and Ivan Xav and then glanced back at the three local civilians still tagging after her. They seem to have decided that she was their guardian or something. At least they’d stopped screaming and crying. But if they had to move again, would they be coming along? She suspected that this time the move would be to a ship in orbit. They might not be too happy about that. The very strange man from the Dendarii Mercenaries had disappeared, perhaps already on his way up.

 

Ivan Xav looked at her and then back at Vorpinski. “Surely not all of us, sir,” he said.

 

_What?_

“That’s what he implied…”

 

“Families and lower level staff, perhaps, sir. But how can the rest of us go?” There was a look on her husband’s face that she’d never seen before. A hardness, a … resolve completely unlike his normal happy-go-lucky self. Vorpinski seemed surprised too, for a moment, but then he nodded.

 

“I tried to tell him that, but he had no time to listen. So you think we should stay, Ivan?”

 

“How can we do otherwise, sir?” He motioned to the tactical displays through the glass walls of the observation room where they stood. “Our men are dying out there.”

 

“Yes.”

 

Just then an officer—one of the lower ranking ones, a colonel she thought—came barging into the room. “My lord? We’ve gotten the shuttles ready. If you can assemble your people and get them out to the landing field we can get going. Please hurry, there’s not much time.”

 

Vorpinski cleared his throat. “Colonel, we will be evacuating our dependents and low-level staff, but the rest of us will be staying.”

 

The man scowled. “The General was quite clear that you all would be going.”

 

A small smile appeared on the ambassador’s face and he tilted his head toward Ivan Xav.

 

Tej’s husband didn’t often become the Vor Lord; in fact she could only remember one or two times when he had, but now he did. He took a step forward. “What’s your name, Colonel?”

 

“Uh, Falkenstein, my lord…” He took a half-step back. Ivan Xav took another step forward. He was quite a bit taller than the colonel and glared down at him.

 

"Well, you would seem to have forgotten, Colonel, that we are Vor. We may be idiots who do many strange things, but we are not cowards, and running away is not one of them. And if you or your general supposes His Majesty will be pleased by your treating his diplomats as poltroons, I suggest you think again." He tapped one booted foot. "Swiftly."

 

“I…I… very well, my lord,” gobble the man. “I’ll inform the General of your decision. But in the meantime, if you can assemble the people who _will_ be going, I’d appreciate it.”

 

“Certainly, colonel, happy to cooperate.” The man withdrew. Swiftly.

 

“Nicely done, Ivan,” smirked Vorpinski.

 

“Felt good, sir. Never got to give colonels their marching orders in my old job.” He turned to look at her. “Better get your stuff together, love. They’ll want to get those shuttles out of here as quick as they can.”

 

Tej’s eyebrows rose. “Oh really? And why should I care about that, dear? Since I won’t be on one?”

 

“Tej…” started Ivan Xav, frowning, but she wasn’t having it. She put her fists on her hips and stepped right up to him.

 

“Perhaps _you_ have forgotten that due to that little thing we did with the groats back on Komarr, I’m Vor, too, now! And even though you certainly _are_ a pack of idiots, it seems I’m one of you now and I won’t be running away, either!”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 _Mobile Planetary Defense Center… Mobile Planetary Defense Center…_ MPDC… Alby typed in one information query after anothertrying to find something useful about the EnBees’ huge war machine. He’d appropriated a vacant comconsole station and been at it for nearly an hour. He was finding out all sorts of information on MPDCs in general, but not a damn thing specific about the one here on Novo Paveo. Rad Benin was on an adjacent comconsole trying to get sensor data from the ships and drones that were keeping an eye on the thing. Anything he got, he fed to Alby to help him refine his search.

 

Of course, if the EnBees had built it from scratch in secret, he wasn’t likely to find anything. It would be a unique item, not on any database outside EnBee control. Still, even the general information was useful. Not very encouraging, but still useful. Based on the size of the thing he could compare it to various real or (more frequently) hypothetical designs to get some idea of its capabilities.

 

There was no doubt it had a grav lance of the heaviest and longest-ranged type. That would have been a given even if it hadn’t demonstrated it so lethally against that frigate. That was the whole point of the thing: to mount a weapon capable of blasting ships in close orbit around a planet. It would also mount massively heavy shielding. A big plasma mirror, of course, but also force screens able to deflect heavy non-plasma weapons. Heavy armor, too, to try and stop anything that got past the force screens.

 

And stuff might get past. Despite the powerful force screens, the MPDC had one problem that plagued every ground vehicle that tried to mount a force screen. Force screens naturally tried to be spherical in shape. For space ships this was no problem, but for things on the ground it might be. Secondary emitters could be used to bend the screen to the desired shape, like a door or window opening, or a whole building. For something that didn’t move, like a building or a bunker, the emitters could be buried with the foundation and the force screen would neatly wrap the structure. Really secure places might even have the screen wrap the bottom of the structure, too.

 

But vehicles had a problem. The force screens wouldn’t let anything through them, but that also meant that the screens wouldn’t pass through other objects either. So where the screens met the ground you had a problem. If you kept a really solid screen in place, right down to the ground, then you were in effect mounting an enormous plow to the front of your vehicle. Every little rise in the ground would be pushed along like by a bulldozer. In no time your vehicle would grind to a halt with a huge pile of debris stacked in front of it.

 

So the force screens had to weaken and peter out at ground level. Things might be able to slip through there. Of course, this was no secret. The 61st had trained to take advantage of it when they were working with the heavy tanks back at Fort Vorolson. Tanks typically had their heaviest armor placed to cover those weak spots and often had banks of secondary weapons aimed to blast any foolhardy soldier who might try to slip under the screen.

 

And that was the information Alby was hoping to find about the EnBee MPDC: the secondary weapons. There was nothing anyone could do about the grav lance, but what other weapons did it carry? How thick was the armor? Were there any weak spots? He had to find something. Anything to help out his comrades.

 

“Alby.”

 

He looked up and Rad was standing next to him.

 

“What? You got something?”

 

“No. But look.” He pointed to one of the tactical displays. The big red icon.

 

“It’s on the move.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Anny wrenched her hammer loose from the side of the light tank, jammed the muzzle of her plasma arc into the hole the hammer had made and fired. A flare of dazzling blue light appeared around the edges of the hole and then the vehicle’s hatches all blew open with a gout of flame and smoke. The tank’s anti-gravs failed and it slammed to the ground, narrowly missing Anny’s feet. She jumped back and looked for new foes, scarcely noticing the EnBee tank driver, wrapped in flames, who managed to pull himself halfway out a hatch before collapsing.

 

Her platoon had knocked out three other tanks which had attempted to overrun their position. Several others were falling back with the remains of their supporting infantry. Anny pulled her men back to cover, dragging along five more of their own casualties. This had been a bad one and they’d paid heavily for their success.

 

“Status!” she croaked. She knew she didn’t have to yell, but years of parade ground drill had made it instinctive. Her throat was getting raw.

 

“Dumont’s had it, but I think his suit’s freezing him.”

 

“Astin’s lost a leg…”

 

“Ellender’s suit’s dead, not sure if he’s hurt…”

 

“Sarge! Sarge! Are you okay?”

 

That last reply snapped Anny’s head around. Sergeant Kay was staggering into the ditch they were using as cover. One armored gauntlet was pressed against his breastplate. It couldn’t quite cover the blackened hole beneath it. “Malcolm!” He slumped to his knees just as she reached him. To her horror, there was a second hole in the back of his armor. Whatever had hit him had blown completely through. _Shit!_

“Malcolm, can you hear me?” she asked as she called up his suit’s medical read-out. The information came through immediately and it wasn’t good. Massive damage to his torso area, lung gone, most of the liver… an urgent message was blinking:

 

BLOOD LOSS CRITICAL. EMERGENCY MEDICAL CARE REQUIRED. AUTOMATIC CRYO ACTIVATION IN 3:47

 

The timer was counting down. The suit would put Kay in cryo automatically if not overridden. Should she? Where was the medic?

 

“Berton!”

 

“Sir? Kinda busy right now,” came the reply.

 

“Sergeant Kay’s suit is going to put him in cryo. Should I let it?”

 

“Might as well. Evac times to the field hospital are running over thirty minutes now. Too damn many casualties.”

 

“Should I do it now or let it count down?”

 

“If it’s gonna happen, sooner’s better.”

 

“Right.” _Right…_

 

“L-Lieutenant?” She blinked. It was Kay.

 

“Malcolm? You’re gonna be okay.”

 

“S-sorry to let you down.”

 

“You didn’t, you didn’t,” she said as she gave his suit the order to put him in cryo. “You did great, just great. Gonna put you to sleep now. You’ll wake up in bed surrounded by pretty nurses.”

 

“Thass… nissss…” He didn’t say any more. The cryo drugs were already in him. Damn. He had been doing a great job. She needed a replacement. Sergeant Wood was next in line among the NCOs. But maybe…

 

“Ensign Milroy…”

 

“Lieutenant Payne! Answer!” Anny jumped. That wasn’t Milroy.

 

“Payne here.”

 

“Lieutenant! Captain Vorstang’s down!” It was First Sergeant Nikolaidis.

 

“What? How bad?”

 

“Bad enough.”

 

_And Dahlberg’s already been evacuated. Hell, hell, hell…_

 

“Then I guess I’ve got the company, Sergeant.” _Again_.

 

“Yes, sir, you do. What are your orders?”

 

“Orders. Sergeant? The same orders we’ve had all morning: Hold the line.”

 

“Yes sir!”

 

“I’ll move to your position shortly. Ensign Milroy!”

 

“Sir?”

 

“You’ve got the platoon.”

 

“Yes, sir. Good luck, sir.”

 

“And to you. Take care of them.”

 

“Will do.”

 

She left Kay where he was lying, trusting he’d be evacuated as soon as possible, and moved toward the center of the company. She pulled up the status display of what was now her command. Or what was left of it. That last attack had pushed them below half strength. Fifty percent losses. In ages past a unit that had taken ten percent casualties was considered to be spent. Twenty-five percent was perilously close to breaking.

 

But C Company wasn’t going to break.

 

Assault troopers were trained to a different standard. They usually operated in smaller groups and the loss of a couple of men couldn’t be allowed to stop them. And even though the whole regiment was here today, that training was still with them. They would keep fighting until they were told to quit. Keep fighting until… _the last man?_

 

Could it come to that?

 

Why not?

 

_Yeah, why not?_

 

She reached Nikolaidis and checked in with the other platoon leaders. Ensign Vorstuban had already taken over 1st Platoon from Dahlberg and Eric Vorgard still had 2nd. She was lucky to still have officers left. She suspected some of the other companies weren’t so lucky. Jer was still alive, though. And Patric. But things still looked dicey over on the right. The EnBees were really concentrating there.

 

She reported to Major Vorglanov that she had C Company, but he just acknowledged and confirmed that she was to hold in place until given new orders. He sounded very busy. For the next twenty minutes or so she just oversaw what the company was doing, making minor adjustments here and there, but forcing herself to let the platoon leaders do their jobs. _Delegate, delegate!_ Fortunately, the EnBees on her front seemed to be licking their wounds from their last attack. Sporadic artillery was still falling, but things were as quiet as they’d been since the fighting started. She was actually able to sit down for a minute and suck some of the liquid rations from the tube in her helmet. She peered out toward the enemy positions. _Maybe they’re as tired as we are…_

 

“Attention the line!” Anny jerked to full alert. It was Fetherbay, on the officers’ circuit. “The big enemy war machine is moving forward. We still don’t know what it can do to ground targets, but we aren’t going to take any chances. New fall-back positions are being transferred to you now. Major Waski! Get your men off that damn hill! It’s heading your way!”

 

Anny looked at her tactical display and saw that the big red icon, which had remained stationary all day, was now out of the volcano and heading toward the regiment’s right flank. 2nd Battalion was holding there with a big hill, designated 219, as its anchor. A swarm of blue icons were on and around it. Slowly, much too slowly they started to pull back…

 

Anny flinched as a hornet seemed to fly right through her brain.

 

That was the only way she could describe it. A buzzing, crawling, burning… _itch_ in her head. The tactical display was going crazy and the world seemed to be stretching around her like a piece of soft taffy. Overhead something passed by and for a moment the sky darkened to purple and she could see stars flickering, and then it was gone. Moving on, toward the right…

 

Toward Hill 219.

 

She activated her telescopic video feed just in time to see the upper fifty meters of the hill sheared away. Not blown up, just… _annihilated_. Gone.

 

“Jer!”

 

 

 

 

**Chapter 29**

 

Jer picked himself off the ground and looked around in confusion. He was lost in a fog. _Fog? There hadn’t been any fog…_ A gray-white mist was all around him. No, wait, it wasn’t a mist; it was a cloud of … of dust. A fine dust, fine as talc. It was slowly settling, coating everything, turning the world white.

 

_What the hell happened?_

 

They’d just gotten the order to fall back and then… something. A moment of buzz-saw pain in his head and then he’d been knocked down and now this. Voices began to arise over his com circuits, most of them vocalizing the questions he’d been asking himself silently. What was happening?

 

He called up his tactical display and cursed when he saw that it was just a hash of colored confetti. Damn, if he’d lost his TAC, he was going to be crippled. But no, wait, it was settling down now; the image firmed up and blue and red icons started winking back on. He sighed in relief.

 

Except…

 

Something was still wrong. Off to the right, a whole group of icons were missing. Was there some screw-up with the sensor downloads? That could happen with all the jamming going on, but all in one area? He looked over that way, his sensors cycling through wavelengths until they found one that could penetrate the dust cloud.

 

“Holy shit…”

 

The hill… it was gone. The top of it had been sliced off as if by a giant knife. _The grav lance… it must have been the MPDC’s grav lance…_

 

The babble of voices on his com was abruptly cut off by stern orders from Major Waski to fall back. “Everyone pull back to Position D—it’s on your maps. And stay to the low ground in case that bloody thing fires again!”

 

Jer shook his head and blinked. Okay, okay, he had orders. Fall back. Now where were his men? He keyed his suit to highlight his own platoon and display their status. At a glance it appeared that he still had everyone he’d had before the… the whatever it was had struck. He was down to a single mass driver and eighteen men. Part of him desperately wanted to know how many of the men he’d detached to the other companies were still alive, but all morning he had forced himself to not check on them. They were not his responsibility today and he couldn’t afford to distract himself with something he wasn’t responsible for. Eighteen men, himself and… and…

 

“Oh My God…”

 

The hill.

 

His militia company had been on the hill.

 

“Flora! Flora, answer me!”

 

Nothing. No response.

 

He called again, but there was still no answer and the chilling realization was growing in his gut that there never would be any answer. Ever. His militia company, along with some support forces, had been sent to that hilltop during their last pull-back. And they were all gone. Every one of them. A gravitic imploder lance caused an enormous gravitation shear. Hundreds of thousands of Gees of force would shred anything it touched, ripping objects apart, literally molecule by molecule, reducing them to…

 

… dust.

 

He looked again at the slowly settling cloud. The white powder on the ground, on his suit… He tried to brush it off and then was nearly retching. Flora, the others…

 

“Lieutenant! We gotta move!” It was Shusterman. His platoon sergeant came up to him and took him by the arm. “We can mourn ‘em later sir. Gotta stay alive to do that.”

 

“Y-yeah, you’re right, Sergeant,” choked Jer. “Let’s get out of here.” He took one last look at what was left of Hill 219 and then turned and followed his sergeant.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Anny gasped in relief when the tactical display came back to life and she spotted Jer’s signal. He was still alive! She’d known he was over on the right and when that hill had been destroyed and she couldn’t pick up his signal, she’d feared the worst. But there he was!

 

Even so, her relief was tempered by the knowledge that he was still in terrible danger. The enemy MPDC had blown a hole right through the line and the flank was collapsing. Swarms of other enemy troops were surging forward to take advantage of it. _Get out of there, Love, as fast as you can!_

 

She had to get moving, too. The whole regiment was falling back again to a new position. They were sucking in the right flank, shortening the line, trying to put some high ground between themselves and the EnBee war machine. But they were starting to run out of room. They were only a half-dozen clicks from the outskirts of Milagres now. Beyond that was the ocean.

 

C Company was down to about eighty effectives, even including the men attached from the weapons company, and far too many of them had minor injuries and plasma mirrors that were out or nearly so. Her own mirror was around 30% and she was probably better off than most. She gave the order to move to her troops and then watched to make sure it was done properly. In spite of her determination to not interfere with her subordinates, she was finding that more and more she _had_ to step in. Too many key people were gone, too many squads were down to just a couple of privates. They weren’t going to break because of their casualties, but it was inevitable that they were going to lose some of their effectiveness.

 

They fell back through a shattered olive grove, took cover briefly behind a stone wall which surrounded a farmstead, and then fell back again. As they moved, the blinding glare of a heavy-duty plasma arc swept through the area. Trees flamed up like torches and the farmhouse exploded. Anny’s plasma mirror flared as it deflected the edge of the beam, as did many others among the men. Two troopers, caught more fully in the arc, went down as their mirrors failed. The whole company flung themselves flat on the ground.

 

“God!” cried Ensign Vorstuban. “That didn’t come from any tank! What was it?”

 

“It would appear that the MPCD has more weapons than just that grav lance,” replied Anny as calmly as she could manage. “Come on, people, move! Let’s get back and find some defilade from it.” They picked up their fallen comrades, although both were beyond any help, even cryo freezing, and scrambled out of the line of sight of the enemy machine. Along gullies, through decapitated woodlots, past shattered houses, they fell back, carrying their equipment, their wounded and their dead. The other EnBee forces, apparently encouraged by the arrival of their behemoth, were attacking with renewed vigor and were close on their heels when they reached their new position. This one was, again, on the reverse slope of a line of low hills. Anny and her men quickly found cover and prepared to be hit. But the MPDC did not seem to be able to move very fast and they gained a respite from its fire.

 

The enemy didn’t grasp the fact that the 61st wasn’t a defeated force. They were in pursuit mode now, but the 61st had stopped running. “All right,” said Anny, “Let ‘em have it!”

 

Fire lashed out from all along the line, catching many of the EnBees in the open. They had taken out a lot of the troop carriers earlier so many of the infantry were riding on the tops of the ones that remained. They were completely exposed and suffered heavily before they could dismount. Anny led her troopers out in a brief counterattack that sent the enemy reeling back over the hill. She dared not follow far and soon returned to cover, leaving a field filled with burning vehicles and dead EnBees. Similar scenes were taking place all along the new line.

 

“Guess that’ll teach them to keep their distance!” exulted Vorstuban. The rest of the men were voicing similar sentiments until Sergeant Nikolaidis ordered them to shut up. But the enemy did appear to have been taught a lesson and they did keep their distance for quite a while—until the MPDC loomed into view again.

 

From that point it just got worse.

 

The MPDC didn’t seem to be able to depress its grav lance far enough to hit them in the low ground they now occupied. At first, Anny wondered why it didn’t use its anti-gravs to tilt the whole machine up so that it could bring its primary weapon to bear again. But from time to time the whole vehicle flared brightly as something powerful hit its shields. And they learned that the Alliance warships in orbit were now playing a deadly game with the MPDC. They’d briefly pop-up above the horizon and take a shot and then duck back down again before the enemy grav lance could shred them. The warships’ fire couldn’t do much other then drain the enemy’s shields a bit, but since they could pop-up anywhere around the whole horizon, the EnBee commander clearly didn’t want to risk exposing the machine’s undersides to fire by tilting it too far.

 

And they had plenty of other weapons to use against the 61st.

 

The monster looked to mount at least four capital-grade plasma arcs plus numerous smaller ones along with mass-drivers and missile launchers. Against the battered and depleted Barrayarans, it was more than enough. Casualties began to mount alarmingly and there wasn’t anything they could really do to hurt it in return. Most of their heavy weapons were gone and their plasma fire just got reflected back at them.

 

Meter by meter the MPDC ground forward and the 61st was forced to fall back again. Anny’s company had lost another dozen men before the order to retreat was given. Ensign Vorgard was one of them and Anny decided to consolidate C Company down to two platoons, one under Vorstuban and one under Milroy. They had practiced this sort of thing and it was done without confusion. Damn, she had good men! _And I’m probably going to lose all of them today._ She thought back to the parade ground at the Academy, a conversation with Lord Vorkosigan… _Do your job. Do your job as best you can_ — _and pray the price doesn’t get too high._ Anny was praying—but the price was already far too high.

 

By mid-afternoon they had been pushed back to the edge of Milagres. Anny was surprised when they found themselves fighting around the burning remains of C Company’s base. She could hardly recognize it now. Some of the personnel modules had been torn open, others spewed thick clouds of black smoke as they burned. A small tan shape caught her eye. _Lulubelle._ The little vella had been thriving on Novo Paveo, but no more. Private Stubinski would have been heartbroken—except he was already dead.

 

“Anny? Anny!” It was Bernard Vorstuban.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“How much longer is this going to go on? I mean… I mean how much more can we take? We stay much longer and there’s not going to be any regiment left!” She glanced to make sure he was using a private circuit and he was.

 

“I don’t know. We stay until the Colonel tells us otherwise. What the hell else can we do?”

 

“We could fall back! Try to save something!”

 

“Fall back where? The town would give us more cover, but it wouldn’t help much against that thing. And there are all the civilian there… Plus our field hospital!” The thought materialized in her head out of nowhere. All their wounded! There couldn’t have been any evacuations from the island. And the medical staff… Chris Tropio… What would the EnBees do if they got that far? _We can’t let them get that far!_

 

“Maybe… maybe we can swing wide to the east. Draw them after us that way. We’d still be delaying them, keep them away from Araxa like we’re supposed to.”

 

“Sounds like a fine plan, Ensign. Why don’t you suggest it to Colonel Fetherbay?”

 

Vorstuban sputtered. “Anny! I’m serious!”

 

“So am I.”

 

“He’s not going to listen to me!”

 

“And you think he’ll listen to me?”

 

“He might!”

 

“You really think it’s that bad?” _Stupid question. We both know it’s that bad._

 

“Don’t you?”

 

“We’re buying time…”

 

“For what? For who? The fleet is two days away! You think we can hold for two more days?”

 

_No. We can’t hold for two more hours._

 

“We hold until we’re told to do something else.”

 

“Anny!”

 

“Bernard, shut up and do your job. It’s a job you practically begged for, as I recall. Get a medal or two to spruce up your record? Anyone who’s alive after this should have a basketful. Now cut the chit-chat. We’ve got work to do.”

 

There was a long pause and then: “Yes sir.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“They’re getting the hell beat out of them.”

 

Ivan wasn’t sure who among the watching officers had made the comment, but there was no denying the truth of the statement. The 61st Regiment of Imperial Infantry was on the verge of annihilation. They’d fought well, fought incredibly well. The EnBee brigade that had attacked them had been reduced to little more than a reinforced battalion, with most of its vehicles and heavy weapons destroyed. But the 61st was at less than battalion strength itself and even at full strength Ivan couldn’t see what it could hope to do against that MPDC. The thing had the firepower, shields and armor of a dreadnought.

 

_We need some dreadnoughts of our own!_

 

But the closest one was still thirty-six hours away. The ships that were in the vicinity of Novo Paveo were doing their best to help out. Their fire support was helping smash the other EnBee forces who had revealed themselves elsewhere on the planet, and they were even taking daring shots at the MPDC. But would that be enough? The Alliance ground forces were rushing toward Araxa as quickly as they could disengage from the unexpected battles in which they’d found themselves; some were arriving even now.

 

“The 4th Keegark Fencibles are unloading, General. Where do you want them to go?” A staff officer was pointing at a display where a blue icon was winking at the Araxa landing field. It was a Polian unit. General Vordanov, who had been given overall command of the situation (although with considerable grumbling by the Cetagandan contingent) shook his head.

 

“Just light infantry. Have them dig in next to that Escobaran engineer battalion in Sector 9. Damnation, what we really need is some heavy armor!” He turned to one of the Earth officers; a man wearing a black uniform as if he was a naval officer, but with oddly incongruous pink piping and a beret. “Brigadier, what the hell is the problem with the 21st Panzer Regiment? It hasn’t budged since this began and we need their tanks!”

 

“Sorry General, they have been immobilized,” he replied in a thick accent that Ivan couldn’t quite place. “By sabotage if the reports I’m getting are to be believed.”

 

“Sabotage! How?”

 

“Well, as you know, heavy armor hasn’t been much use in the sort of anti-insurgency work we’ve been doing here. So we sent the 21st to an area that had been pacified.” The man shook his head sadly and looked embarrassed. “Apparently it wasn’t quite as pacified as we’d been led to believe.”

 

Vordanov cursed and turned away again and stared at the main display. Looking for inspiration? Ivan wished him luck. He’d been staring at it himself for hours and nothing had come to him, either. Over the years he’d spent in Ops he’d observed countless battle exercises. And he hadn’t just slept through them; he’d absorbed a thing or two about tactics and strategy and managing a battle, even though he had no ambition to ever command one himself.

 

But he couldn’t see what could be done here.

 

Forces _were_ arriving at Araxa. The 61 st , Anny Payne, (and himself) had bought some time for that. Another hour or two and they would have enough here to put up a real fight when the EnBees arrived. Maybe even enough to stop them. _But that won’t help the 61 st. They’re screwed._ With the MPDC’s ability to interdict air transport, there was no way to reinforce the Barrayarans on the island, nor to evacuate them. _Will they surrender? Scatter? Fight to the last?_ He thought back to that dinner at their regimental mess the night before he was kidnapped. The men he’d met there didn’t seem the sort to surrender or run. _How many of them are still alive right now?_

 

A commotion among the officers dragged Ivan’s attention over to the display showing the orbital situation. One of the ships that had been playing hide-and-seek with the MPDC had taken a glancing blow from the machine’s grav lance and been heavily damaged. Fortunately, it had already changed its vector enough to drop below the horizon before the EnBees could hit it again. Another ship was moving in to tow it to safety.

 

Shortly after that, an argument broke out between two groups of staff officers. As near as he could make out, one group was suggesting that they just let the MPDC come on and then attack it when it tried to cross the narrow strait between Tamborete and the mainland. Hit it from underneath while it’s over the water! But the other group was claiming that they had sensor readings showing possible enemy submersible vessels gathered around those straits. Had the Alliance thought to bring any submarines along? No? Well that’s too bad, isn’t it?

 

“Ivan Xav?”

 

He looked to where Tej was sitting. Her face was twisted in concern. “What’s going to happen?” she asked.

 

“Well, we’ve got reinforcements coming in from all over. The EnBees can’t be here for at least a few more hours and we ought to have enough stuff here to deal with them by then. If we can hold them off until the fleet arrives then we can…”

 

“No,” she interrupted and pointed up at the display. “I meant what’s going to happen to _them_? Those Barrayarans on the island. That nice Anny Payne?”

 

“They…” He tried to form a lie, a nice comforting lie, but it died on his lips in the face of his wife’s searching eyes. “They’re in a lot of trouble.”

 

“But surely they’ll give up before it’s too late, won’t they? Make a deal? They can make a deal and we can get them back again later, can’t we?”

 

Ivan stared back at her and then his eyes dropped.

 

“This isn’t Jackson’s Whole, love. There aren’t going to be any deals.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Got anything?” demanded Alby as Rad approached his desk.

 

“Just some more sensor read-outs. I doubt there’s anything new. Have _you_ got anything?”

 

“No, damn it! I can’t find a single clue about where that bloody thing came from!”

 

“The EnBees may have built it themselves, then. In that case you won’t find anything. And even if you do manage to track down its origins and even its builders’ specifications, what are the chances any of that information will be of use? I seriously doubt that the design has an unnoticed ‘hit-here-to-destroy-me’ flaw in it that you’ll find.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he snapped in frustration, paging through the new data supplied by Rad at the same time. The Cetagandan was probably right; he wasn’t going to find anything useful. But what else could he do? He couldn’t get back to the fight and none of the bevy of generals in the situation room were going to pay any attention to any brilliant suggestions he might come up with—not that he had any. But to do nothing just wasn’t an option. Not with his friends in danger!

 

He flipped his comconsole over to the tactical display from the situation room, as he’d been doing more and more frequently to check on the battle. Things looked really bad. The Regiment had started out in a long line, now it was contracting into a blob on the edge of the town of Milagres. The enemy MPDC was on a hill above them, pounding and pounding. At least most of the remaining EnBee troops seemed to be holding back, hiding behind their colossus rather than risk more losses from the stubborn 61st. _Get out of there, dammit! Run!_

“Alby, this isn’t doing any good,” said Rad.

 

“I know, I know.” He switched back to the previous screen and continued to flip through the new sensor data. It was just more of the same: readings that various drones and ships and direct links from the power armor in the 61st had been gathering right along. Nothing… nothing…

 

“Wait a second…”

 

“What?”

 

“See here?” He pointed at his display. “When that thing fires its grav lance, the distortions screws up all the local sensors.”

 

“Yes, that’s a well-known side effect of the grav lance. So?”

 

“But it looks as though it’s also screwing up the MPDC’s own dampening field.”

 

“The sensor dampening field?”

 

“Yeah! You know that every ship carries one to keep enemy sensors from getting a good look inside them during battle. Even big ground vehicles carry them.”

 

“Of course. It’s standard practice. But you’re saying the enemy’s field goes down when it fires its main weapon?”

 

“Looks like! The sensor readings from some of the distant ships and drones suddenly get through for a few seconds before the field comes back again. If I take a closer look at some of these… yes! Got it!”

 

“Got what?”

 

“A clear read on the emissions from its fusion plant! A lot of manufacturer’s fusion plants have a distinctive signature. If I can run a comparison… Yeah!”

 

“What?”

 

“Bingo! That thing’s fusion plant was built on Earth! _Skodawerks_ in the European Union, to be exact.”

 

“The name sounds familiar…”

 

“It should! They’re a major builder of ships, including warships and a lot of other military hardware.” He did a new inquiry and the screen filled with information on Skodawerks.

 

“Perhaps the EnBees bought the fusion plant from them,” suggested Rad.

 

“Why would they need to do that? They can build their own fusion plants. I’m betting that if the fusion plant came from Skodawerks, then a lot more of that thing did, too!” His fingers flew over the keyboard and the screens flashed by faster and faster. Several minutes went by as he dug deeper and deeper into the intelligence databases of both the Barrayaran Expeditionary Forces and those of several of the other Alliance contingents that he’d managed to break into during his search for Anny. The forces had brought along almost everything in their vast archives—just in case they might need them. Some had information going back a long, long time… He suddenly stopped. “There! Look at that!”

 

On the screen appeared a picture of a hemispherical vehicle that looked almost exactly like the one the EnBees were using. If it weren’t for the teeny tiny people standing next to it, it might have been a ground car of a style that was popular a few decades earlier on Barrayar. Alby brought up a pic of the one they were fighting and set it alongside. “Looks like we have a match.”

 

“Yes,” agreed Rad. “But… this is a news article from over eighty years ago!”

 

“Damn, you’re right. But let’s see what it says about it… ‘Skodawerks completes its newest _Riesenpanzerlandkreuzer_ _’…_ what the hell is that? ‘Constructed for the Free Texas Republic’… never heard of ‘em… ‘at a cost of’… etcetera, etcetera. Huh, look, here’s some specs on it, but they’re clearly out of date. It doesn’t have a grav lance…”

 

“That long ago they hadn’t been invented yet. Nor plasma mirrors.”

 

“True, so it’s been refitted. But let’s see what else we can find about this sucker.” He started typing in new searches and now that they had a starting point it wasn’t hard at all to track the MPDC. “Christened _San Jacinto_ by Free Republic… mothballed… reactivated during border dispute… mothballed again… sold to… Hey! Look at this! They sold the damn thing to Escobar!”

 

“Shortly after you Barrayarans tried to invade them,” noted Rad.

 

“Yeah, you’re right. But damn, the thing was sitting on Escobar for twenty years! Why the hell haven’t any of the Escobarans here with us mentioned that? For that matter why isn’t it in any of _our_ intelligence briefs? We must have known that they had the thing!” He typed again and paused. “Oh… we did know. Look at this intel report from thirty years ago. Damn.” Yes, there it was again. The photo attached to the report looked to be the same exact one in the original news article.

 

“Probably no one here—Escobaran or Barrayaran—had any direct involvement,” said Rad. “I remember my father mentioning that an entire battlecruiser had been misplaced for over five years before they discovered it had been decommissioned and scrapped. An unfortunate bureaucratic oversight, he described it.”

 

“A typical bureaucratic foul up! But at least this report seems to have some more up to date information on it. Look , there’s the grav lance. But how did it get from Escobar to here?” More typing. “Decommissioned in… sold to… okay, here it is! Sold to Galactic Salvage Corporation, supposedly for scrap. But where did they…? Oho! Look at this! Galactic Salvage was owned by _Material Interstelar_ , a big corporation that just happens to be based on…”

 

“Nuevo Brasilia.”

 

“…at which point the trail ends. The MPDC was supposedly broken up for scrap. There’s no further mention of it anywhere.”

 

“Clearly they took it home in secret and kept it there until they decided to commit it here. It doesn’t appear that they did any significant upgrades since they bought it,” observed Rad. “The last specifications we have from when Escobar owned it are a close match to what our sensor readings here are telling us.”

 

“Yeah,” said Alby looking them over. “It’s a hell of a beast, isn’t it? Well, let’s get this info up to the front where maybe it can do some good!” He copied the specifications to a data chip and headed for the situation room.

 

General Vordanov was busy, of course, but Alby bulled his way through and presented his findings to him. There was an awkward moment when he got to the part about who had owned the MPDC before the EnBees had gotten it. Vordanov glared at the ranking Escobaran officer, who just shrugged and looked sullen. But Vordanov took the chip and handed it to an aide.

 

“Let’s get this to all our ships. And to the 61st, of course. Good work Vorsworth.”

 

“Thank you, sir.”

 

 _But will it do any good?_ Alby looked at the main display. The blue icons on Tamborete were getting mighty scarce and the big red icon marched on inexorably.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The Regiment was dying.

 

They had fought all day long; they had fallen back, halted, fought, and fallen back again and again, leaving a trail of enemy and their own dead as markers. Burning vehicles and burning villages smudged the afternoon sky with black smears. Night was coming, but it wouldn’t provide any cover or any relief. Word filtering forward from the BEF HQ in Araxa told them they had done a great job, a heroic job, delaying the enemy long enough to let reinforcements assemble to meet this surprise attack. But none of the messages said anything about help coming to the 61st. Their orders were still to hold the line. Hold the line.

 

But there wasn’t any line left. Just clumps of men desperately trying to find some spot that the enemy war machine couldn’t blast. Anny’s company was down to a few dozen effectives. And even some of the ‘effectives’ were badly wounded. The neural interfaces in the armor allowed the wearers to do remarkable things. Men who had lost arms, even legs, could sometimes keep fighting; the interface blocking pain and shock and letting them move their remaining limbs. Battered and torn, C Company kept fighting. Technically, it wasn’t even her company anymore, it belonged to Bernard Vorstuban. She was now the acting battalion commander, but there was no battalion left to command. Too many officers were down, too many NCOs; the chain of command was broken in too many spots. A and B Companies didn’t have any officers left at all. The men hadn’t broken yet, but the Regiment was in pieces. Bleeding to death, one man at a time.

 

Anny crouched in a crater and tried to make sense of what her displays were telling her. What was left of the 61st was clustered in what had once been a tidy suburb of Milagres, but which now was just evenly-spaced piles of rubble. She was exhausted, despite another dose of Dynatrim. Her fatigue dulled her fear, even dulled the rage; all that was left was a numbing sense of sadness: the Regiment was dying.

 

According to her sensors, Jer was still alive, although she wasn’t sure if she believed them. He was only a few hundred meters away, off to her right, the closest they’d been since the fight started. The line, which had been ten kilometers long, had shrunk to a blob less than a klick in diameter.

 

The enemy war machine was squatting on a low hill about 800 meters away from her. Fire continued to lash out from it, claiming more victims from time to time. The other enemy troops were still hanging back, even though there was nothing to prevent them from moving around the flanks into Milagres and surrounding them. _I guess we put the fear of God into them._ It was true, they had hurt the enemy badly. Very badly. The brigade that the EnBee commander had shown to them so proudly was a shattered collection of survivors rather than a real combat force. _Just like us._

 

But the MPDC was still unharmed. Her sensors told her that the sniping fire from the warships and what fire the 61st could put at it had drained its shields and its plasma mirror, but they were still far too strong for any weapon they had left to get through. If they could just close with it, get inside the screens, but several attempts had failed with heavy casualties. One of those attempts was why she was now the battalion commander. About an hour earlier they’d gotten a download of information on the machine, but it hadn’t done any good that she could see. It just told them what they already knew: it was an incredibly powerful device. Assault troopers were effective against all sorts of opponents, but this wasn’t one of them. What the hell could they do?

 

Someone thudded into the crater next to her and she saw that it was Vorstuban. “So what do you think?” he gasped. The ‘visor-up’ feature on her display showed her his face. He looked tired and scared—probably just like she did.

 

“About what? The weather? The Vorbarra Sultana social scene?”

 

“Anny! We _cannot_ stay here! We can still slip out to the east! Someone needs to give the order!”

 

Two hours ago he’d said the same thing and she’d told him to shut up. But now… now… _He’s right. Dying here isn’t going to gain us anything more._ But what could she do? She wasn’t the ranking officer, there were still others left here and there. She couldn’t decide to retreat on her own.

 

“Anny, we need to… oh hell, look at that.”

 

Anny peered above the lip of the crater. What had Vorstuban seen? _Oh God…_ A hundred meters to her front, closer to the enemy, someone was waving the regimental banner. The red and gold and blue gleamed in the setting sun. There were holes in it and the edges were ragged and torn, but it was still mostly intact. _Unlike us._ She stared at it, unbelieving.

 

Then the inevitable happened. There was a blast of searing light and an explosion. When the smoke cleared there was nothing to be seen but a new crater. “Damn…”

 

“Yeah,” sighed Vorstuban. “Wait, who the hell is that? Oh no!”

 

Anny looked again. Someone was moving toward the crater. She double-checked her tactical display. “Fetherbay!” Her colonel was moving to pick up the flag of his regiment.

 

“The bloody fool!” cried Vorstuban.

 

Anny’s armored fingers dug into the edge of the crater as she watched helplessly. Fetherbay dodged from cover to cover and then flung himself into the crater. A moment passed and then he rose to his feet, holding the banner, even more battered and torn than before. Just as he did so, another trooper, seemingly from nowhere, jumped into the crater with him. The man tried to pull the staff away from Fetherbay, but he didn’t let go.

 

“They’re _arguing_ over it!” sobbed Vorstuban.

 

Anny felt hot tears on her cheeks. This was insane.

 

Then another blast of energy briefly silhouetted the pair and they were gone, too. Anny zoomed in her vision pick-up, but all she could see was some speck of red and gold lying amidst the smoldering earth. _Damn! Damn! Damn!_

 

She stared for a moment longer and then started climbing out of her own crater.

 

Something grabbed her and yanked her back down. It was Vorstuban, his eyes wide in shock. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Anny jerked her head toward the enemy. Toward the banner.

 

“Are you out of your mind? You’ll be killed!”

 

She pulled loose from his grasp.

 

“It’s my turn now.”

 

“Anny!”

 

She ignored him and started forward, driven by some force she couldn’t explain. She scrambled onward, crouching, half-crawling. An explosion tumbled her into a hole, but she cleared her head and lurched forward again. Voices were calling over her com, but she ignored them, too. Her sight was focused on that speck of color.

 

She reached the crater and paused on the edge. The top of the flagstaff with the brass imperial eagle had been sheared off; there was a pronounced dent about halfway down from there. The banner had been reduced to tatters. The fist of Colonel Fetherbay still clutched the pole. Nothing else of her colonel remained.

 

Anny Payne reached down and gently pried Fetherbay loose.

 

Her hand closed around the staff.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Jer clung to the earth and tried to get even lower. The air above him seemed filled with flames. To try to stand would mean certain death. He’d never imagined anything like this. Not in his worst nightmare. His platoon was gone, both mass drivers, most of the men, gone. One or two were on the ground nearby, like him, and Sergeant Shusterman was still there next to him, but everything else was gone. What the hell were they supposed to do? The enemy MPDC was impervious to anything they had left. Their plasma weapons were worse than useless and everything else was gone. He was clutching one of the anti-tank mines; he had no clue of where he’d gotten it from. If he could get close enough to attach it to the hull of the machine, it might be able to do something, but there was no way to get close. He’d seen what had happened to those who had tried.

 

They had to get out of here! To stay was to die. He needed to find Anny and drag her out of here—before it was too late. They had done their duty, done everything expected of them and more. No need for everyone to die. He’d never felt so afraid. The fear was like a hand clutching his throat. Yes, they had to run! He had to find Anny and run! No one would blame them, the situation was hopeless.

 

“Sir?”

 

He called up his tactical display. He had to find Anny. She couldn’t be that far…

 

“Sir?” It was Shusterman. There was a babble of voices on the general com channel that made him hard to hear. Voices shouting. Shouting at someone to get down…

 

“Sir!”

 

“What?”

 

“I… I think you should see this.” A hand grabbed his shoulder and yanked him up. Shusterman was right next to him, pointing. He looked along Shusterman’s arm. There was a figure a few hundred meters away. His tactical display was overlaid on the image and there was a blinking icon right there on that figure.

 

“Anny!”

 

He zoomed in and there she was, crouching over something. Plasma bolts seared past her on either side.

 

“Get down!”

 

But she didn’t get down.

 

Instead she got up. She hoisted something in one hand over her head. It was a long pole; shreds of blue, red and gold fabric fluttered from it. Her other hand clutched the haft of her war hammer. He could see her face clearly and it was the most terrifying and glorious thing he’d ever seen; her eyes fairly blazing. Her mouth opened…

 

“Come on, Sixty-first! _Give them the cold steel!”_

 

Her voice echoed over the general circuit.

 

Then she waved the flag and turned, running toward the enemy.

 

There was a roaring in his ears; a growling, animal snarl. Some of it was coming from his own throat, but there seemed to be hundreds of other voices adding to it. The entire landscape was tinted red.

 

And then he was up, out of his hole, sprinting forward. After his girl, after the flag, toward the foe. All around him men were rising up out of the ground, like the dead leaving their graves. But they weren’t dead, not yet. Some were missing arms, a few even were missing legs, hopping along obscenely, the men of the 61st Regiment of Imperial Infantry rose up and followed their flag. Hundreds of them, charging forward. Blasts of energy swatted some of them down, but the rest kept going, screaming their battle cries.

 

The neural interface of his armor interpreted his scrambled thoughts correctly and the armor ran forward at maximum speed, closing the distance in what seemed an instant. The machine loomed enormous in front of him, belching fire from a dozen spots. An incredible rage filled him. That thing! They had to kill that thing!

 

He reached the edge of its force screen and dove for the ground, crawling, rolling scrambling. A coruscating halo of energy surrounded him for a moment and the last of his own screens were stripped away, but he was through! The metal sides of the MPDC towered over him, but he was past its shields!

 

But where was Anny? He looked around frantically—there she was! Lieutenant Andreanne Payne stood atop one of the machine’s massive treads, the flag still clutched in one hand. The pointed end of her hammer flashed down and smashed through the snout of one of the plasma arc projectors that studded the vehicle’s side. It exploded in a shower of sparks. All around him more men were joining the assault, climbing or leaping up onto their tormentor. Hacking, chopping, blasting at the thing that had killed so many of their comrades.

 

But the beast was fighting back. It had dozens of secondary plasma arcs and none of the troopers attacking it had plasma mirrors anymore. Bolts flashed out and men were falling fast. Jer hefted the mine he was still carrying. Maybe it could do some real damage… But even as he looked, another trooper placed a mine on the upper hull. It exploded spectacularly, but only made a small gouge in the thing’s massive armor.

 

“Underneath, sir!” It was Shusterman. “If we can get underneath, maybe you can hit it where it hurts!”

 

“All right! Let’s go!” They darted toward the gap beneath the front of the hull, between the massive caterpillar tracks. But the designers, knowing that this was a weak spot, had mounted a bank of plasma arcs to cover it. The ground exploded in front of Jer and he was blown backwards, his armor scorched, but not pierced. He scrambled to his feet among a half-dozen fallen troopers. But there was Shusterman! He had made it up to where the plasma arcs were mounted. He swung his vicious axe and smashed one of them. Then another. As he took out a third, a beam sliced him in half and he fell.

 

Jer cried out in rage, but he could see that there was now a blind spot in the coverage. He dashed forward and was suddenly underneath the machine. Now, where to place the mine? He’d briefly looked at the schematics they’d received earlier, now he called them up again. The fusion reactor would be the best bet, but no, it was in almost the exact center of the vehicle, too far from the skin for his mine to have a chance to reach. What else? The shield generator? Maybe, that was back aft. He started moving that way, alongside the huge bogies for the tracks. But hell, they were already _past_ the damn shields! Taking it out might help the navy or the troops around Araxa, but he wanted something to help right now! Hell, there had to be something!

 

As he moved, he scanned the surface of the hull. If he could find a hatch or other opening, maybe he could get the mine inside where it would do more damage. Wait, what was that? Several capped off pipes penetrated the hull. What were they? Waste disposal? Cooling intakes? He zoomed in the schematics on that area… _Auxiliary Fuel Supply._ Yes! Any large vehicle with a fusion plant would have a back-up generator to supply power during maintenance shut-downs and to provide the power to start up the reactor. But what did this thing use? He looked closer at the pipes and saw the universal symbol for flammables. All right! According to the schematics there was a large fuel tank right above him! Making his decision, he slapped the mine against the hull and activated the timer.

 

Then he ran.

 

Five seconds later the explosion slammed him to the ground. The mine had a directional charge and nearly all the explosion would be directed up into the machine, but enough still reached him to knock him down. He looked back and saw that a raging fire had erupted. Then a moment later there was another explosion, followed by an enormous creaking groan. To his elation—and horror—he saw the tracks on either side of him start to sink into the ground.

 

_The anti-gravs have failed!_

And the vehicle was _very_ heavy.

 

It began settling rapidly, and the patch of daylight at the aft end of the vehicle was getting narrow—fast. Jer leaped forward. Within seconds he only had room to crawl as the hull came down to crush him. He squirmed free with just centimeters to spare. _Holt shit, that was too close!_

 

He stood up, trying to catch his breath—and then a large panel on the back of the machine blew out and a shower of flaming liquid splashed down all over him. The whole rear end of the MPDC was engulfed in flames.

 

He retreated quickly to get out of the inferno. Dozens of other flame-covered troopers did likewise. Fortunately, their armor was built to take abuse like this. As long as they didn’t stand around in the fire, they would be okay. He looked back at the MPDC; it was burning and no weapons were firing anymore. Was the beast dead? Sure looked like it. Another explosion ripped through the thing, sending bits of it skyward. But Anny, where was Anny? He consulted his display and there she was just a few dozen meters away. He walked over to join her. She was looking north. Jer looked, too and caught his breath.

 

The rest of the EnBee troops were still there.

 

Hundreds of red specks filled his tactical display. And there weren’t very many blue ones left at all.

 

“Not enough,” murmured Anny. “Not enough.”

 

But as the remnants of the 61st gathered around their standard, many of the troopers still covered with burning fuel, the enemy began to back away. Some of them dropped their weapons. Some of them put their hands up. Some of them started running.

 

Within seconds they were all running. Running north. Back the way they had come.

 

“Do you want to order the pursuit, sir?”

 

Jer twitched and then grinned to see Patric Mederov come up beside them. He was still alive!

 

Anny turned and smiled, too. “No, ensign, I don’t think so. We’ve got control of the air again now and help is on the way. I think we can leave the mop-up to someone else.”

 

“Yes sir!”

 

Anny was still holding the flagstaff. Just a few strands of fabric were left now. But she seemed to have lost her war hammer…

 

…and the arm that had been holding it.

 

“Anny! Your arm!”

 

“Uh, yeah, I misplaced it back there somewhere. Don’t worry, they can grow me a new one. Doesn’t even hurt with all the drugs my suit’s pumped me full of.”

 

“Anny!” He took hold of her. The suit’s arm was torn off at the shoulder, but some sort of foam was filling the hole. There was an auto-tourniquet that would keep Anny from bleeding to death.

 

“Maybe you should sit down,” said Patric.

 

“Yeah… yeah, a fine idea.” There was a very strange expression on her face and Jer realized she was going into shock. They eased her down to a sitting position. Patric commed for a medical shuttle and was assured that there was now a fleet of them on their way.

 

A gentle smile grew on Anny’s face and her eyelids began to flutter. Jer anxiously checked her medical readouts and was relieved to see she was in no danger. Just hurt and worn out. “Take a nap, love.”

 

“Yeah, another fine idea.”

 

“That was a hell of a thing, Anny,” said Patric. “A hell of a thing.”

 

Her eyes closed and she whispered: “We gave ‘em the cold steel.”

 

 

**Chapter 30**

 

Anny woke up in a hospital. It looked like the big one that had been set up on the base near Araxa rather than the one on Tamborete. That made sense, she supposed, the one on Tamborete must have been overwhelmed with all the casualties. She didn’t want to think about all those casualties. It was actually hard to think about anything, and her mind and sight kept wandering around without focusing. Fuzzy… drugs, probably. The whole previous week felt like a dream. Her kidnapping, escape, the battle…

 

Her eyes wandered over to a contraption attached to her left shoulder and then looked down to where her left arm should have been. Okay, so that hadn’t been a dream. She vaguely remembered standing on the enemy MPDC and smashing away at it with her war hammer. Dozens of other troopers were around her doing the same thing. Yeah, yeah, she did remember that! The rage and then the incredible exultation once she was actually hurting the thing that had hurt them all so much.

 

Then the flash of a plasma arc. She hadn’t felt anything at all; her left arm just went numb. That was the neural interface at work, blocking the nerve impulses. But all sorts of warning lights had come on in her display. She’d looked down and there was her arm, still clutching the flag, lying on the metal deck of the machine’s superstructure. Just like Fetherbay’s. It had been a bad moment. Not so much the injury, but the memory of how she’d ended up with that flag. And then she had to make the awful decision of whether to leave the flag lying, or drop her hammer so she could pick it up with her right hand. She really wanted to keep the hammer and bash the enemy some more.

 

But then the machine had lurched and a fireball had erupted from the rear of it. Someone had hit it where it hurt. That made her decision a lot easier. She’d dropped the hammer and took the flag and hopped down from the vehicle. And then Jer and Patric had been there and then… she was here. She leaned back against her pillow and sighed a long sigh.

 

She was in a big ward with dozens of beds and they were all filled. Med techs were swarming all around tending people, but she was in her own little bubble of solitude at the moment. It seemed like heaven. Nothing to do, no decisions to be made. No one shooting at her or her men. Peace. Quiet. Heaven.

 

It couldn’t last, of course and eventually one of the techs came over to her. She was surprised to see that the man wasn’t a Barrayaran, but from one of the other Alliance contingents. A patch on the shoulder of his tunic could have told her which one, but annoyingly he kept moving around and she couldn’t read it. His face had a dark reddish-brown complexion and his accent was just thick enough that in her current drug-fuzz she couldn’t catch more than one word in three. But he chattered away, smiling the whole time and she just nodded her head whenever it seemed he had asked a question. He did some things to the gizmo on her shoulder and eventually he went away. She closed her eyes and slept.

 

The next time she woke, the world seemed a bit less fuzzy. The medical noises and smells were sharper, as were her thoughts—and her pains. She hurt in a lot of different places. Not badly, just twinges here, and aches there. Yup, she was definitely alive.

 

After a while a medical officer—a Barrayaran this time—approached her. “Good morning, Lieutenant,” he said. “How are you feeling?”

 

“Not too bad, sir.” She looked at her shoulder. “Guess I’m going to need some fixing up.”

 

“Yes. You lost the arm about ten centimeters below the shoulder joint. We removed the rest of the humerus. It’s a lot simpler to replace the whole arm than to try and attach it to a stump. The device on your shoulder is doing a little on-site regeneration of the surrounding tissue to get you ready for the prosthesis we’ll be fitting you with.”

 

“When will that be, sir?”

 

“A week or two. As you can imagine, we’re a bit busy right now with all the critical cases.” She looked at the man more closely and could see the dark circles under his eyes. He’d probably been working non-stop for days.

 

“Yes sir. How… how bad was it, sir?”

 

The doctor frowned and hesitated. “I imagine you’ll get the final figures eventually, Lieutenant. I haven’t really seen them myself.”

 

“What’s happening out there, sir? Is there still fighting going on?”

 

“Some. Casualties are still coming in, but nothing like the other day. Looks like it’s winding down.”

 

“Did we win?”

 

The doctor smiled. “That’s what I hear, not that they tell me much. I’m sure you’ll get the full story eventually. Of course, from the stories circulating, _you_ ought to know more about what happened than anyone.”

 

 _Stories? Already? Oh dear…_ “My view was a tad… limited, sir. Uh, when can I get out of here?”

 

“Another day or so. Normally I’d like to keep you longer, but we need the bed. No duty until we get the prosthesis fitted, of course, and light duty after that.”

 

“Until my new arm is grown?”

 

“Uh, actually, our regeneration facility is completely overwhelmed at the moment, Lieutenant. That will have to wait until you get home, I’m afraid.”

 

“I see.”

 

“But from the rumors, you’ll probably be on your way home pretty soon.”

 

“Really? They’re sending the wounded home again?” Anny didn’t like the sound of that. Leave Jer behind? The unit?

 

“Not just the wounded, your whole regiment.”

 

“Oh…”

 

“But that’s just a rumor. I could be wrong.” The man looked at her medical monitor and pressed a button. “I can see you’re hurting. This should help. I’ll come see you again tomorrow.” He moved on to the next patient and as he’d promised, most of Anny’s pains faded away in just a few minutes. Lunchtime came and she was given actual food. She wasn’t particularly hungry, but she forced herself to eat. Her body needed the fuel. Eating with one hand was more awkward than she’d expected and she nearly knocked the whole tray on the floor.

 

The meal was bland, but the dessert was wonderful. Just as she was finishing, it came walking up in the form of Jer, Alby and Patric. All three of them were grinning and she felt herself smiling, too. Alive! They were alive!

 

“Howdy, Captain!” cried Alby.

 

Jer and Patric immediately lost their smiles, as did Anny.

 

“Uh, I think you’ve got the wrong patient, Lieutenant,” she said.

 

“Alby! Shut up!” said Patric.

 

“She’s gonna find out sooner or later,” said Alby, testily. “Knowing her, probably sooner.”

 

“Find out what?”

 

Jer sighed. “They posted a new organization chart this morning. To fill in all the… holes.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“You’ve been brevetted captain of C Company.”

 

Anny was silent for a long moment. “Is there any C Company left for me to be captain of?”

 

The threesome looked at each other awkwardly. Finally Jer said: “None of the companies are much more than a corporal’s guard at this point, Anny. But a lot of men will be returning from the hospital soon.”

 

“How many? Did they post what our losses were?”

 

“No, not yet. It was just a new organization chart from regimental down to company level. No figures on the rank and file or junior grade officers.”

 

“Who’s commanding the regiment?” She knew it wasn’t Fetherbay.

 

“The ranking officer still on duty was Captain Vorjanis, the adjutant,” said Alby. “But General Vordanov appointed one of his staff officers, Major Berg, to take over temporarily.”

 

“Damn it,” said Jer, “we just came to see how you’re doing, Anny; we didn’t want to… bother you with any of this. Not yet.” He scowled at Alby.

 

“Well, I would have been worrying about it if you hadn’t told me, so never mind. But I’m fine. They say I can get out of here tomorrow or the next day.”

 

“That’s great!” said Alby.

 

“That soon?” asked Jer, concerned. “You were… hurt pretty bad.”

 

“This?” she said waving at her shoulder with her right hand. “Just a scratch, they tell me. They want me out of here to make room for the real wounded.” She smiled.

 

“Anny!”

 

“Just a joke. Not a very funny one, I guess, is it? Well, in any case, they will be kicking me out. No duty until I have a prosthesis. They say about a week for that.”

 

“The ones they have these days are really good, I hear,” said Alby. “Almost like a real arm.”

 

“And they’ll be growing you a new one, right?” asked Patric.

 

“Sure, but not until we get home. I’m hearing rumors that they are sending us home. Any of you know anything about that?”

 

“That’s what we hear,” said Alby. “With the fighting nearly over, they don’t need to wait for a new regiment to replace us.”

 

“The fighting’s over?”

 

“Pretty much. The EnBees threw everything they had left into their surprise attack. When we crushed it, that pretty well broke their back. I heard there are some negotiations going on right now.”

 

“Well, that’s good. I… I think I’ve had enough of Novo Paveo.”

 

“It will be nice to get home,” said Patric.

 

Anny looked at her three friends and smiled. Home. Home alive. How many weren’t coming home alive? She couldn’t bear to ask and she knew they probably wouldn’t tell her if she did. She’d find out later, but for right now…

 

She held out her hand and one by one they took it and squeezed. Jer waited until last and she pulled him closer and kissed him.

 

Apparently that sent up a signal, because almost immediately a tech appeared and shooed them all away so he could do something to the contraption on her shoulder. They said good-bye and departed. She wanted them to stay, but she was getting very sleepy again. The damn tech must have given her something…

 

She woke up again in the late afternoon and was surprised and delighted to find Chris Tropio sitting next to her bed. “Hi!” she said.

 

“Hi Anny, how are you?” Chris looked… exhausted. Her red-rimmed eyes peered at her out of dark sockets.

 

“I’m okay. But how are you?”

 

“Fine.”

 

“No you’re not. You need to get some rest!”

 

“Been ordered to. On my way. They pulled us all out of Milagres and sent us back here. Slept some on the shuttle. Just thought I’d stop in and check on your for a minute. Heard you’d been hurt.” Chris was staring at her with an odd expression. No, not staring at her, staring off at something Anny couldn’t see.

 

“Chris?” She had to say her name twice before it yanked her back from wherever she’d been. The woman sat there, shuddering slightly. Then she swallowed and words started pouring out of her.

 

“We… we ran out of cryo pods after the first hour,” she said, her voice a monotone. “After that… after that we left the ones who’s suits had frozen them as they were. We don’t like to do that, but there was nothing else we could do for them. But… but the ones who’s suits were wrecked, the cryo mechanism wrecked, but they were still alive… We got them out and did what we could, but there were so many of them. We couldn’t evacuate any; no shuttles flying. The doctors, the auto-surgeons did what they could, but there were so many, Anny. We never thought… we never expected…”

 

“Chris…” she reached out with her hand and the woman took it, squeezing hard, but she still wouldn’t meet her eyes.

 

“Some of them… some of them were hurt so bad. We pumped them full of pain killers, so they didn’t suffer too much, but… I sat with some of them when they gave me a break. Didn’t get many breaks, but when we did, I sat with them. I held their hands—the ones that still had hands. Some of them held on so tight. It was like… it was like if they held on to me I could keep them from sliding away into the dark. I tried… I tried…” Suddenly she was sobbing and she buried her face in the blankets covering Anny.

 

“Chris… oh God, Chris…” The woman had released her hand and Anny gently stroked Chris’ hair. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

 

After a minute Tropio stopped crying, sat up, and scrubbed away the tears. “Sorry, sorry, I was supposed to be consoling you…” She took a deep breath and finally looked into her eyes.

 

“It’s all right,” said Anny, even though she knew it wasn’t.

 

“Gotta go,” she said, standing up. “I’ll come see you again later.”

 

“Okay. See you,” she said, but Chris was already walking away.

 

Anny lay there, staring at nothing for a long time. Remembering the horrors she had seen—imagining the horrors Chris must have seen. They fed her again, and eventually she slept.

 

The next day, the doctor visited her again and seemed satisfied with her progress, and he confirmed that they would let her return to quarters that day. _What quarters? My quarters were burned to the ground last I saw._ Some technicians carefully removed the device on her shoulder and bandaged it up. They gave her all sorts of instructions about things she shouldn’t attempt to do, most of which she wouldn’t have thought about doing even with two good arms. Then they left her and she waited to be released. Waited and waited. If she’d had any clothes she would have just left, but she only had a patient’s gown, so she was stuck there. With nothing to do but think.

 

 _Brevet captain, I wonder if they’ll let me keep that?_ Brevet promotions were temporary things, allowing people to fill temporary holes in the table of organization. Depending on the circumstances sometimes you were allowed to wear the rank, sometimes you even got the pay.

And sometimes you got to keep it all permanently. She remembered the officers back at Fort Vorolson who had held brevet ranks for years until they were finally confirmed as permanent.

 

Anny could only guess at what might happen in her case. The hole she was filling wasn’t temporary. Captain Vorstang wasn’t going to be coming back any time soon. Nor Lieutenant Dahlberg. They’d need a permanent replacement for this hole—and all the others. They might transfer someone in from another unit. Yes, that could certainly happen; it wasn’t like there was a big war going on with a hundred regiments desperate to fill holes. There would be plenty of eager men with political pull to try and fill the gaps in the 61st;; they didn’t need to necessarily fill them from inside the regiment. And she was less than two years out of the Academy. The medal she’d won during the fire had already bumped her one rank. Most of her classmates were still ensigns. They weren’t likely to want a twenty-five year old, female captain. _Yeah, don’t get cocky, girl; you’ll probably be a lieutenant again as soon as we reach home._

 

Eventually, after several hours, a soldier arrived, carrying a bundle of clothes. She recognized him as a man from C Company, but he was from one of the other platoons and she couldn’t remember his name. He stopped in front of her bed and saluted, even though she wasn’t in uniform. “Afternoon, Captain,” he said. “Brought you some stuff and I’m supposed to take you to your quarters when you’re ready.”

 

“Thank you, Private…”

 

“Bjorlin, sir. Second Platoon.”

 

“Ah yes. How are you doing, Private?”

 

“By the looks of it, better than you, sir, but all things considered, not too bad, I guess. Damn lucky to still have all my original parts.” He glanced toward her shoulder and then all around the ward at the other patients. He held out the bundle of clothes, black fatigues by the looks of them. “You gonna be able to get into these on your own, sir?”

 

“I guess we’ll find out.” She took the bundle in the crook of her arm and eased herself out of the bed. She’d been out a few times that day, making trips to the rest room. She headed there now, with Bjorlin tagging along. “I’ll call if I need help,” she said as she closed the door.

 

Getting out of the gown was no problem, but dressing herself one-handed proved a… challenge. Underwear, trousers, socks and boots she managed without too much difficulty, but the bra (where had Bjorlin gotten that?) proved impossible. The shirt was awkward, and she found herself turning in circles, pursuing the flapping left side of the tunic, trying to grab it and pull it closed and seal the fasteners. Someone had gone to the trouble of pinning up the left sleeves on both the shirt and the tunic. She finally accomplished it and then had to sit down on the commode to catch her breath.

 

“You okay, Captain?” came Bjorlin’s voice through the door.

 

“Fine, fine, give me a minute.”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

She noticed that the tunic sported two blue captain’s collar tabs, so someone was taking this brevet business seriously. She put on the cap and managed to get it straight and then opened the door. Bjorlin was waiting along with a med tech who gave her a container of pills with instructions for their use and a form she had to sign to officially be turned loose. Done with that, she followed Bjorlin out of the building.

 

It was a lovely day outside; blue skies, pleasant breeze, sea birds wheeling overhead and dodging the flocks of shuttles that were coming and going. The base seemed incredibly busy, with troops and vehicles everywhere. Bjorlin muttered something about a day late and a mark short. The Private set out at a brisk pace, but Anny, after a minute, realized she couldn’t match it and slowed down. He noticed immediately and stopped to let her catch up. “Sorry, sir,” he said. “Wasn’t thinking.”

 

“It’s all right. Have to pace myself for a day or two, I guess. How… how’s the company, Private?”

 

Bjorlin eyed her and his mouth twisted up on one side; not a smile, certainly. “Hard to say, sir,” he answered eventually. “The boys haven’t… I haven’t… well, I don’t think anyone’s gone through what we did the other day. Not for a long time, anyway. I think most of us are still trying to sort through it all, try to make some sense of it.” He shook his head. “That and try to get used to all the empty bunks.”

 

“How many are left?” She didn’t want to know. She really didn’t want to know, but she had to.

 

“There were twenty-six of us at roll call this morning, sir. Though we’re told five will be back from hospital tomorrow. Plus you and the First Sergeant, that will make thirty-three.”

 

“First Sergeant Nikolaidis lives, does he? Then so does C Company.” She hadn’t seen Nikolaidis since just before… before the charge. She hadn’t been sure if he’d made it.

 

“Yes, sir. We were all right glad to see him, too. His armor got shot all to hell, but he came out without a scratch.”

 

“Good,” she said automatically. But thirty-three was a pitifully small number. A full strength company had almost 200 men, including all the staff. _Almost eighty percent casualties._ “What about Ensigns Vorstuban and Milroy?”

 

“Oh, they brevetted Vorstuban to lieutenant and gave him command of B Company, sir. They didn’t have no officers at all.”

 

“And Milroy?”

 

“Still in the hospital, sir, but they say he ought to be back in a week or so.”

 

“Good, that’s good.”

 

Bjorlin fell silent and she didn’t ask anything more. Yeah, it was going to take everyone a while to sort things out. They were going to have to keep a close watch on all the survivors, make sure they weren’t going to crack up. _Who’s going to be watching out for you, girl?_

 

They reached a batch of living modules and Bjorlin led her to one that had a sign on one of the doors with her name on it. It was a standard set of quarters for a company commander, but it was almost completely empty. “I’ll try and get a kit together for you, sir.” She looked at him and he blushed. “The Sarge has sort of assigned me to you as a temporary dog-robber. If you don’t mind, of course.”

 

“No, that’s fine. I could use an extra hand.” She grinned and after a moment Bjorlin barked out a laugh.

 

“Good one, sir.”

 

“No it wasn’t, private, but it was still worth a laugh.”

 

“Yes, sir. Will you be needing me for anything more right now, sir? Maybe you should just rest. I can start getting some stuff for you in the meantime.”

 

“All right. That would be fine.” Bjorlin saluted and left and Anny sat down on the bunk. She was feeling very tired, suddenly. She took off her cap and lay on the bunk and was asleep without even taking her boots off.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Men of the 61st Imperial Infantry! I have assembled you here to pay tribute to your remarkable heroism!”

 

Alby Vorsworth stood with the remains of the regimental staff, to the right and rear of Major Burg, and listened to the speech of General Vordanov. It was a nice speech, he supposed, and sincerely given—and richly deserved—but he could take little pleasure in it. It wasn’t for him, surely not for him. He hadn’t been there. He’d been a hundred klicks away, far from the battle; safe. Not by choice, maybe, but that didn’t change the fact that he hadn’t been there.

 

He was glad he was out in front where he wouldn’t have to look at the tragically shrunken ranks of the Regiment. _Regiment_! There were scarcely enough left to fill out two companies! Many times their number surrounded them on the huge landing field of the Araxa base. Contingents from all the Alliance forces had assembled to honor the Barrayarans. It had been five days since the battle; the fleet had returned and the last of the EnBee forces were being mopped up. From what Alby had heard, the commander of those forces was ready to capitulate, pull out of Novo Paveo and leave the locals to govern their own affairs. The Nuevo Brasilian naval forces lurking out by the wormhole had been contacted to see if they could provide transport. The 61 st would be going home in a few weeks and they would probably be followed by most of the rest before much longer. The war appeared to be over.

 

Vordanov finished up his remarks, but naturally, the other commanders couldn’t let him have the only word and a half dozen other prominent officers and diplomats all had their own say. Most were nearly as complimentary of the 61st as Vordanov had been, although one could easily have wondered if the Cetagandan commander had gotten this ceremony mixed up with some other one considering how little his remarks seemed to have anything to do with the matter at hand.

 

As things dragged on, Alby did force himself to glance back from time to time. There was Anny in front of her tiny company, the left arm of her dress greens folded and pinned up against the shoulder of her tunic. She was supposed to get her prosthesis soon. Hopefully before they packed everyone on a ship headed home.

 

The speakers finally shut up and the assembled Alliance forces did a pass in review for the 61st. Alby had been to a lot of reviews, but he’d never been to one where the reviewers were a whole regiment. Well, not a _whole_ regiment… But still, it was unique and a bit satisfying. At least the 61 st was getting recognized for what it had done. _Won the damn war is what they did!_

 

But finally it was all over and they were dismissed. They had no duty for the rest of the day so Alby headed off to meet up with Izabella Cresswell-Jones. She had come back with the rest of the fleet and they’d set up a rendezvous. He found her easily enough and they smiled at each other, but by some unspoken agreement, they did nothing more than touch hands briefly. “Good to see you,” said Alby.

 

“And you,” she replied. “How… are you?”

 

“Me? Oh, fine, of course. Why wouldn’t I be fine? It’s not like I was ever in any danger or anything.”

 

Izabella looked at him and pursed her lips. “And you feel guilty about it?”

 

“Guilty? Why would I feel guilty? Just because all my comrades, all my friends, were being blown to atoms and there wasn’t a friggin’ thing I could do about it?”

 

The woman snorted. “I’ve seen some of the debriefs and AARs, Alby, and I know damn well that you did quite a lot! And how do you think I felt? I was the one who couldn’t do a frigging thing! Half-way across the solar system, totally decoyed, worried to death about you and you’re friends—who are my friends, too, you might recall! _I’m_ the one who has a right to feel guilty! So stop feeling sorry for yourself!”

 

Alby rocked back at the anger in Izabella’s voice. He _had_ been feeling sorry for himself and there hadn’t been anyone else he dared vent to. He’d never realized… “Sorry… that was stupid.”

 

“Yes it was! You might not have been in the front lines, but at least you were right here! Doing things! Every damn thing that was coming through to us was already hours old! I thought I was used to the intelligence lag that light-speed imposes, but I never had to wait to find out if someone I cared about was alive or dead before. That makes everything… different.”

 

“I… I guess it would. I remember when Jer told me about how it felt when he was in exactly the same situation back at Dounby. I just never thought…”

 

“Obviously!”

 

“Okay! Okay! I’ll stop feeling guilty, if you will! It’s just that so many of us got killed or wounded and I never got a scratch and…”

 

“Alby, if you don’t shut up about it, I’m gonna add you to that casualty list and solve your guilt problem!” She clenched her fist and thumped it into the palm of her hand and scowled menacingly.

 

It was so ridiculous he couldn’t keep from laughing and after a moment she did, too. “All right!” he chuckled. “Truce?”

 

“Truce. And it’s not like you have anything to feel guilty about. Most of the intel people in the fleet are talking about how you managed to piece the EnBee plan together and give enough warning to avoid a complete disaster.”

 

“I thought we weren’t going to talk about this anymore…”

 

“No _, you’re_ not going to talk about it anymore. I can talk about it as much as I want. That was some truly good work, by the way. Hell you’re a hero, Alby.”

 

Now Alby snorted. “Not really. If you want to look at a real hero, we can go find Anny. You’ve heard about what she did, haven’t you?”

 

“Impossible not to; everyone’s talking about that.”

 

As they should! If she doesn’t get a Vorbarra Cross out of this, there ain’t no justice!”

 

“And a Vorbarra Cross is…?”

 

“Barrayar’s highest military decoration, bestowed by the Emperor, himself. They are not given out very often and it usually takes something really extraordinary—and usually fatal—to get one. But if anyone deserves one, it’s her.”

 

“Well, I hope she gets it then.”

 

“I mean she’s already got the Medal for Conspicuous Gallantry, that’s number two on the list, but still…”

 

“You really admire her, don’t you?”

 

“Hell, yes.”

 

“A shame she’s already got a boyfriend.”

 

Alby did a double-take and then punched her lightly in the shoulder. “Message received. I’ll shut up. Now let’s catch a bus down to the shore. I want to see the tide come in one more time before we go.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“How does it feel?” asked Jer, looking at Anny’s new prosthetic arm. She had her tunic on so he could only see the hand and the general shape. It didn’t look quite… right.

 

“It feels pretty good.” she said, lifting the hand and putting the arm through a series of motions. “I don’t have to operate it or drive it in any way; it moves just like it were my real arm.”

 

“Sort of like our armor?”

 

“Exactly like our armor. There’s even a neural interface. A much smaller and dumber version, of course. They implanted a little chip in my skull and it handles all the nerve impulses going in and out. I have a sense of touch, kinesthetic awareness, the whole works. I can even call up a little control display that pops up in my vision—just like our armor—to make minor adjustments if I want.”

 

“So it’s just like your real arm.”

 

“Almost. This one’s a bit heavier than a real arm—all the stuff inside, I guess—so the extra mass takes a little getting used to. And they inserted some additional artificial musculature in my shoulder and chest and back to help move it around. _That’s_ a little weird; I can feel them under my skin.” She held up the hand again and sighed. “And, of course, the thing was designed for a man.” She put the artificial hand next to her real hand and it was noticeably larger. The whole arm looked a bit large, actually. “They gave me one of the smaller ones they had in stock and it’s only about two centimeters longer than it ought to be, but noticeably bulkier. Well, I can put up with it until we can get home and I can get my own back. Of course, I’m right-handed, so I’m using my real hand for most detailed work anyway, but I couldn’t believe how inconvenient it was to only have one hand!”

 

Jer gingerly took the prosthetic hand in his own. “It’s warm. Feels… almost like real skin.”

 

“Yeah, it’s pretty amazing.”

 

“Uh, you can’t accidentally crush my hand with this thing can you?”

 

“Accidentally? No, there are built-in safety features. But if I disabled them, then yeah, I could probably break your hand. This thing is pretty strong.”

 

“Well, be careful, okay?”

 

“Absolutely.” She gently stroked his face—with the fake hand. “God, I’m so glad you’re okay,” she breathed. “I was so worried.”

 

“So was I—about you, I mean. When I saw you there… at the end… I was certain I was gonna lose you. That was totally crazy, you know.”

 

“Yeah, I guess it was. Didn’t seem like there were any _good_ choices so…”

 

“So you took the worst one possible?”

 

“The _worst_ one would have been to do nothing—and get killed anyway.”

 

“Yeah, I guess. Anny…” Jer paused and looked away. He had to tell her, but he didn’t want to. It had been eating at him and he had to let it out.

 

“What?” She pulled his face around and stared. “What’s wrong?”

 

“At the end there, just before you went crazy, I was… I was going to run. I was so scared. I was going to try and grab you and run.” He held his breath. What would she think of him now?

 

She looked at him for a long time and then said: “So was I.”

 

“What? You?”

 

“Yes, me.” Now she looked away. “I was scared, too. Everyone was dying and there didn’t seem to be anything we could do. I was getting ready to run. Hell, I was going to order what remained of 1st Battalion to run, too. I was that close. But then… I saw what the Colonel did and… and, yeah, it was just like you said; I went crazy. I know what I did, but it still feels like it was somebody else controlling my body.” She paused and looked startled. “Do you suppose…?”

 

“What?”

 

“The neural interface. Remember how on Dounby I was able to take control of Zak’s armor? What if… what if higher headquarters could take control of our armor? Make us fight to the death even when we want to run?”

 

Now Jer was startled. “That’s… terrifying. Do you… do you think that’s what happened?”

 

Anny was quiet for a while, but then she shook her head. “No… No, it was me. I made the decision, no one else. But it still felt so strange. I wanted to run, but instead I charged.” She looked closely at him. “You wanted to run, but you charged, too, Jer.”

 

“After you!”

 

“We’re all charging after something. A person, a flag, our duty. Something.”

 

“And thus are heroes made,” snorted Jer.

 

“So it seems. Whether we like it or not.”

 

Jer looked at Anny’s face. He knew she was embarrassed by all the stories circulating among the men. “You’ll just have to learn to live with it, Anny.” He smiled.

 

“As will you, Love.”

 

“What?”

 

“I noticed you haven’t said a single word about it, but _you_ were the one who destroyed the MPDC.”

 

“Who told you that?” asked Jer, startled.

 

“They’ve started downloading the records out of our armor. I was at a meeting with Major Berg and all the company commanders yesterday. They want to put together a _very_ detailed after-action report. I’m afraid that this battle, being the first big one in a long, long time, is going to become an instant classic. They’ve already discovered that your mine started the fire that finished things.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“That was a good, job, Jer, a real good job.”

 

“It was Shusterman’s idea to get underneath it. He should get the credit.”

 

“I believe our old friend, Lieutenant Vorkerkas, pointed that out at the meeting. Didn’t seem to make much of an impression on the others, as I recall. How are you getting along with him?” Jer frowned; Vorkerkas was now in command of H Company—at least until Captain Andronov could return to duty and that wasn’t going to be any time soon.

 

“All right, I guess. He’s being real careful around me and _real_ careful not to say anything bad about you. I don’t think I ever told you about how the other officers were ready to hand him his head during the search for you.”

 

“No, I’m pretty sure you didn’t,” said Anny, her eyebrows going up. “I’d have remembered that.”

 

“Oh, he was mouthing off as usual and the other’s all pretty much told him to shut up. If I hadn’t been so worried about you, I would have been laughing for a week. Anyway, he’s not saying much of anything these days. Not that there’s anyone to say anything _to_ —the officers’ mess is practically deserted.”

 

“Yeah…”

 

“And there’s no official duty that throws us together. They don’t plan to re-equip us before we leave, so there’s practically nothing to do. Except work on our individual AARs. And write letters.”

 

“Yeah… yeah, I’ve got a lot of those to write,” said Anny glumly. Jer nodded. He had a dozen to write to the families of his platoon’s dead, but Anny had a whole lot more for all of C Company.

 

“Well, we’ll have four months to do all of those on the trip home.” He paused and frowned. “Of course I ought to have even more than you, but that order from Brigadier Sylvanus said it wasn’t our responsibility.”

 

“Your militia company,” said Anny very softly. She reached out with her real hand and took his. “I’m so sorry about that, Jer.”

 

He took a deep breath and sighed. “We were trying to keep them out of the heavy action—they just weren’t equipped for anything like that. And instead we put them right on the bulls-eye!”

 

“It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t really anyone’s fault.”

 

“They shouldn’t have been there in the first place!”

 

“No, probably not, but what else could we have done? We were outnumbered almost four to one, not even counting the MPDC. If the militia companies killed one EnBee, drew one shot of EnBee fire away from the 61st, it might have contributed to our victory. It’s a hard thing, Jer, but that’s war.”

 

“Yeah, I guess. But it was just the way they died. Wiped out at one blow like that! They didn’t even have a chance to run!”

 

“No. Thank God most of the other militia did run before things got so bad. I didn’t see any of them around at the end. They would have been slaughtered for no reason at all at that point.”

 

They were silent for a while, but neither one of them let go of the other’s hand.

 

“So do you think it was worth it?” asked Jer, finally.

 

Anny was a long time answering.

 

“Ask me again in a few years.”

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“And this is the cell where you were held?”

 

Ivan Vorpatril glanced through the open door and then nodded. “Yes, sir, I think so. Of course all these cells look alike.” General Vordanov looked to Anny Payne.

 

“Captain?”

 

“Yes sir, fourth one from the end,” replied Payne confidently. “When we were brought back from our tour of the base, I counted the doors.”

 

“I see. And aside from that tour, you never left the cell until you made your escape?”

 

“No sir.”

 

“And all three of you were in this cell for over a week?”

 

“Yes, sir. We didn’t have any way to measure the passage of time, so it seemed a lot longer.”

 

“I can imagine. Must have been a bit awkward in such close quarters”

 

“We managed, sir.”

 

“Yes, of course. And the boy was there, and you suspected the EnBees had surveillance devices in the cell.”

 

“Yes sir.”

 

Vordanov gave Ivan a peculiar look and then moved on. Ivan frowned. _What does he think? That Payne and I were carrying on together? Hell I’m a happily married man now! And we had other things to worry about!_ He took hold of Tej’s hand and squeezed.

 

He supposed he should have expected this inspection of the EnBee base; there were lots of things of interest here and military intelligence and ImpSec were both going to want to know exactly what happened. But he hadn’t expected it to be such a circus. There must have been fifty people tagging along, including representatives from most of the Alliance worlds. They had started that morning at the remains of the school, and with all the questions they had, this would probably take all day. He had no desire at all to relive this, but there was no choice.

 

“And you say that once the mercenary scout got you out of the cell, you were nearly recaptured by the Da Silva woman?” asked an ImpSec colonel. “A civilian? Rather careless wasn’t that?”

 

“I suppose it was, sir,” replied Payne. “Although I’ve come to believe that Da Silva wasn’t really a civilian.”

 

“No, obviously not,” continued the colonel. “And how she managed to conceal that from a fast penta interrogation I can’t imagine. Quite a foul-up with military intelligence, wouldn’t you say?”

 

Vordanov cleared his throat noisily. “We’ve already discussed that—at length—colonel. We’re here to determine the sequence of events after they were captured. Now can we continue?”

 

“Of course, General,” said the man smugly.

 

“So, you managed to stun Da Silva…”

 

“Paulo, the boy, stunned her, sir. We were very fortunate he was along and that Da Silva didn’t consider him a threat.”

 

Ivan remembered what was going on during those awful few seconds and he clenched his hand around Tej’s. She looked up at him and whispered: “What?”

 

He leaned down and whispered back: “We knew we had to escape. Anny was going to throw herself on Da Silva’s nerve disruptor to give me the chance to jump her. Thank God for the kid!”

 

“My God…” Tej looked horrified and stared at Payne, shaking her head.

 

The tour continued and they trooped along corridors and up and down stairs. They pointed out the first power conduit that Anny had blasted. “Where did you get the plasma arc, Captain? You said you only had gotten stunners and a nerve disruptor from Da Silva and the guards.”

 

“Oh, that’s right, I forgot, sir,” said Payne. “Back in that last stair tower, we bumped into four or five EnBees. We knocked them out and took their weapons.”

 

“Knocked them out with the stunners?”

 

“Uh…”

 

“ _She_ knocked them out with her hands and feet, General,” said Ivan. “She’s really very good at close combat.”

 

“I see…”

 

“After that, we went down here,” continued Payne hastily. “But by then the alarm had been given—our firing must have alerted them. We had to retreat up this way.” More stairs and then finally they were back in that last corridor. The hole blasted through the side of the mountain had been enlarged a bit since that day and some new lights put up. Anny explained about shooting the second power conduit and how that had disabled the EnBee sensor and communications dampers.

 

“And then, Lieutenant, you blew that escape route with nothing to guide your fire but the readings on the mercenary’s communicator?”

 

“Uh, yes, sir,” said Jer Naddel. “It was a tricky shot.” _Not the least because you were aiming about ten meters from where your girl was trapped!_ reflected Ivan. _And me!_

 

“But you pulled it off. Damn fine shooting, son!” said Admiral Vorburke.

 

“Thank you, sir.”

 

“And from here you managed to get out and board the rescue shuttle,” stated Vordanov.

 

“Yes, sir,” replied Payne.

 

“Very good. Let us follow the same route and get out of here.”

 

“Amen to that,” muttered Ivan.

 

Instead of having to crawl and squeeze through the jagged opening, they could just walk out and board the shuttles that were waiting. They took off and circled around the cone of the volcano. One side of it had been blown out almost completely. “That’s where the enemy MPDC debouched,” said a staff officer, pointing. Ivan looked on with far more interest now. This was the part of the story he had missed, or only seen through sanitized tactical displays back at Araxa.

 

The reality was considerably messier. A trail of destruction many kilometers wide led away from the volcano. Dozens, hundreds of wrecked vehicles dotted the landscape, a few of them still giving off wisps of smoke even two weeks after the fight. The shuttles dipped down here or there to look at spots of interest. Fortunately, even though the vehicles were still there, the bodies had all been recovered. Or most of them anyway. Ivan was quite certain that bits and pieces of them would be found for years to come.

 

They landed, for a few minutes, on the hill that had been obliterated by the EnBee grav lance. It was now an absolutely flat plateau. The surface had an odd, glittery look to it and it crunched slightly underfoot. Ivan noticed that Lieutenant Naddel had moved off, away from the crowd, and knelt down with head bowed. Anny Payne was next to him with her hand on his shoulder.

 

Then it was back into the air. The trail of destruction was getting narrower. The opposing forces had shrunk and shrunk until they converged just north of the town of Milagres. The burned and blackened remains of the MPDC sat on a low hill. They circled it and then landed again, just to the south. The mob debarked and looked around. General Vordanov was consulting with an aide who held a computer pad and was pointing out various holes and craters in the ground. Vordanov beckoned Payne over to him.

 

“So, Captain, the records indicate that just prior to the charge, you were here, correct?”

 

Payne looked around and then said: “If you say so, sir. If not here, then somewhere close by. I was in a crater with Ensign Vorstuban.”

 

“Doing what?” asked one of the other officers.

 

“Trying not to get killed, sir.” This produced a few chuckles, but Payne wasn’t smiling.

 

“And then you saw Colonel Fetherbay moving across your front? Toward the regimental banner?”

 

“Actually, we, that is, Ensign Vorstuban, saw another man waving the flag. When he was hit, that’s when we saw Colonel Fetherbay.”

 

“He was alone?”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

They walked forward toward another crater. The ground was so torn up the footing was treacherous. Ivan held on to Tej to keep them both upright. “And Fetherbay was here?”

 

“I think so, sir,” said Payne. “It’s hard to be sure.”

 

“We, uh, found remains that confirm that this is the location, sir,” said Vordanov’s aide.

 

“I see. So when Colonel Fetherbay became a casualty, you came forward, took the flag, and continued up the hill to where the enemy MPDC was situated?”

 

“Yes sir.”

 

They retraced her steps. It was quite a distance and all uphill. Ivan was sweating and puffing by the time they reached the top. Some of the older officers were lagging far behind. But despite the heat, Ivan shivered when he saw the metal colossus towering over him. _My God! Look at the size of that thing!_ It hadn’t looked nearly so large from the catwalk back in the volcano. He couldn’t imagine anyone trying to attack something like this—let alone winning.

 

“And once you and the others penetrated the shields, you did what damage you could until Lieutenant Naddel destroyed it with his mine?” asked Vordanov.

 

“Sergeant Shusterman, my platoon sergeant, and I set out together, sir” said Naddel firmly. “I made it, he didn’t. It could have just as easily been the other way round.”

 

“Yes, of course, Lieutenant,” said Vordanov, nodding.

 

A sweating officer from one of the Alliance navies suddenly said: “You managed to take this out by assault in short order. A shame someone didn’t think of doing it earlier, isn’t it? You could have saved a lot of lives.”

 

There was a long silence before Vordanov finally replied. “Hindsight is always twenty-twenty, Commodore. Easy for us to criticize now, but it wouldn’t have been nearly so clear at the time.”

 

“General, I wasn’t criti…”

 

“I’ll remind you that the MPDC wasn’t committed immediately; the 61st had already done a lot of hard fighting and taken heavy casualties before this monster even arrived.”

 

“I know…”

 

“And the EnBee brigade was there specifically to provide protection for it.”

 

“But…”

 

“And we should further note that it took nearly four hundred men, attacking all at once, to do the job—and half of them became casualties in the doing. Several attempts with smaller numbers had already failed.”

 

“I know that, but…”

 

“And finally, Colonel Fetherbay had been ordered to buy time for the rest of us. He and his men did that brilliantly. If he had sent in four hundred men earlier in the battle and it had failed, his defense might have collapsed right there. That could have led to disaster for all of us.” He glared at the man, who finally shut up.

 

“Still,” said another man, “it really is rather remarkable. Infantry taking on a thing like this with only personal weapons. I wish I could have been here to see you lead that charge, Captain Payne.”

 

Anny Payne’s face was completely blank when she answered. “Excuse me, sir, but I didn’t lead the charge.”

 

“What? But the reports clearly show that you…”

 

“Colonel Fetherbay led the charge, sir.”

 

“But I understood that he was already…”

 

“ _Colonel Fetherbay_ led the charge, sir. I just followed him and carried the flag for him. Everyone else followed him, too. I was here sir, and that’s how it was.”

 

There was an expression on her face now and it brooked no argument.

 

“Indeed?” said Vordanov. He turned to his aide. “Make a note of that, Pavel; we’ll have to amend our report.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Good bye, Paulo, I’ll miss you.” Anny squatted down and gave the boy a hug.

 

“Anny, do you really have to go?” The lad was nearly in tears.

 

“Yes, I have orders to go. I’m a soldier and soldiers have to follow orders. And I’ve been away from my home for a very long time. I want to see it again.”

 

“But who… who will protect us now?”

 

Anny stood up, glanced at Jer, glanced at Paulo’s mother and sister, glanced at the rubble in the street. Milagres had not been flattened, but it had not been completely spared by the battle, either. “The war is over, Paulo. The EnBees have all gone. You and your family will be safe now.”

 

Would they? She sure hoped so. By all indications, the EnBees really had given up. Heavily escorted ships had been allowed to approach the planet and pick up the thousands of troops who had surrendered plus thousands more of their supporters who dared not stay behind. She sincerely hoped that Ines Da Silva was among them. In spite of all that had happened she really couldn’t wish the woman dead—nor did she like the thought of her still lurking around. No trace of her had been found on Tamborete after the battle.

 

Sadly, the EnBees were not the only ones that Paulo need fear. The revolutionary government and their Arfnip troops had taken control of Tamborete. She’d seen what they were capable of. Anny and Jer, indeed all the 61st survivors, had made a great deal publicly about the gallant actions and sacrifices of the militia during the fighting and the unflinching loyalty of the local people. A lot of it was exaggeration, but she hoped it would spare the people here any sort of abuse or retribution by the Arfnips. The Alliance was leaving a covering force to make sure the EnBees didn’t come back and they were supposed to keep an eye on what the government here was up to as well. She sure hoped they would do a good job.

 

Paulo was crying now, but Anny thought she knew how to cure that. “You know, Paulo, my general thought you were very, very brave when you helped us get away from the EnBees.”

 

“Really?” he said, sniffling and looking interested.

 

“Yes, and he asked me to give you this.” She pulled a medal out of her pocket and held it up. The boy’s eyes sparkled. She wished it could have been one of her own, but they had all been burned up. She’d managed to get this from the post-exchange on the base. She squatted down again and pinned it to the boy’s shirt.

 

“It’s really mine?”

 

“It’s really yours.” She stood up and saluted him. “Congratulations, Paulo.” He gave a squeal of glee and hugged her. They spent a few more minutes saying their good-byes. Paulo’s mother gave Anny a shawl that she had made herself. It was really very pretty. Anny thanked her and draped it over her artificial arm.

 

They finally broke away and headed for their shuttle.

 

“Ready?” asked Jer.

 

“Yes. Let’s go home.”

 

 

**Chapter 31**

 

The trip home felt just about as long as the trip out—that is to say: way too long. While there was none of the ‘are-we-there-yet?’ anticipation of the outbound journey, there was also much less to keep people busy. The whole regiment could now fit into a single assault transport, with room to spare. All of the cryo-pods—which outnumbered those present for duty by a considerable margin—were mercifully aboard a different ship. All three medical companies were also on the transport, but since Anny now rated a company commander’s berth, she didn’t share a compartment with Chris Tropio this time—which saddened her.

 

But Jer and Alby and Patric were on the same ship with her and that was wonderful. There wasn’t much duty and the powers that be had made sure that there was a good supply of alcohol—for all ranks—and as many other diversions as could safely be provided. Several stops were made for shore leave and someone had made sure that each of them had some _really good_ facilities. It was almost like some lengthy pleasure cruise. Almost. Anny made sure that Chris Tropio was included in their activities and it seemed like she and her vivandieres were bouncing back from the horrors they’d witnessed. They did have fun, but Anny noticed that there was a certain standoffishness among all the parties. Like they were afraid to get too close to anyone again. She and Jer had no such problem, although they were careful to wait for the shore leaves before they did anything more than a quick kiss or hug.

 

They did hold formations and a few drills just to remind everyone that they were still soldiers. Major Berg had the good sense not to overdo things or insist on iron discipline. In fact, they didn’t see much of the Major. It was clear that he was well aware that he was just a temporary fill-in and for him to try and come across as _The Old Man_ was a recipe for disaster. Anny followed the same tack as far as discipline was concerned. They’d have a morning roll-call and weekly inspections and she insisted that the men spend at least two hours a day in physical training, but other than that, she left them alone under the watchful eye of First Sergeant Nikolaidis.

 

There were some bad times. Men would spend too much time thinking or drinking and would break down for a few minutes or a few hours. But their ‘mates, would take care of them and the moments passed. Most of the time. A few just couldn’t cope with it and had to be sent away for treatment. But only a few. Anny, herself, had nightmares and she knew that Jer and some of her other friends did, too. But it was nothing she couldn’t deal with—at least so far.

 

More often, they were celebrating the return of a comrade. There was a hospital ship accompanying the convoy with the wounded aboard and there were recovered men returning to the ranks almost every day. Each one was welcomed back enthusiastically. Ensign Milroy returned and she made him her exec. Even with the returned people, C Company was little more than a platoon in strength.

 

Anny wrote a few letters a day. It was hard, and the letter she wrote to Sara Fetherbay and her daughter was the hardest of all. She could only imagine what they were going through. They had their own devastating loss and yet they’d have to be strong, publically. For the other families. For the Regiment.

 

But there were letters coming in, too. Fast couriers had sprinted ahead of the convoy and reached Barrayar with the news and returned with replies. Anny received a letter from Lady Vorkosigan. In it, she expressed her sadness at the terrible losses that the Regiment had suffered and she assured Anny that she would be assisting the women’s groups at Fort Vorolson to help the families deal with the tragedy. Sadly, a few days later another courier brought the rather shocking news that the legendary Count Aral Vorkosigan had died and Ekaterin was now a countess. Anny wasn’t sure she would have time to help out at Vorolson after all. But then, in some cosmic foul-up of the message service, she received a letter from Countess Cordelia Vorkosigan _and_ Count Aral Vorkosigan sent only a few days before the Count’s death, expressing their sadness and pride in what had taken place on Novo Paveo. Anny had already sent a message of condolence to the Countess, so she did not reply to this one.

 

She tried for two weeks to compose some sort of story to send to Corporal Kane for the _Gazette_ , but eventually gave up in defeat. They would all have the news by now and anything she wrote seemed totally inadequate. So she just sent a summary to Kane and trusted that he could make something coherent and appropriate out of it. He did, in fact, compose a beautiful piece and when she got a copy, it left her in tears.

 

The weeks turned to months and eventually the convoy passed through Sergyar, Komarr and made the last few jumps into Barrayar space. The men gathered eagerly around the viewports to get a glimpse of home. Anny wasn’t nearly so eager. Oh, she was glad to be back, but the thought of what she was coming back to was bothering her more day by day. It was inevitable that she was going to be coming face to face with the widows and children of the men who had been lost. There would be memorial services and formations and there would be no avoiding it. She remembered the service for Zak Karal back at Silvy Vale and the thought of that multiplied dozens of times set her trembling. But she had to attend. She owed it to the families; she owed it to the new members of the White Battalion. Jer tried to comfort her and that helped immensely. But he was dealing with his own ghosts, too.

 

They finally made orbit and prepared to land. By this time Hans Bjorlin was definitely her permanent dog-robber and he was helping her pack up her kit. She was still missing a lot of stuff; her dress red-and-blues, her sword, the decorations and some of the insignia for her dress greens, and a lot of personal items. “We’ll get you all fixed up once we’re dirtside,” promised Bjorlin. With all the back pay waiting for her, she had more money than she’d ever had in her life—not counting that embarrassing credit chit she’d gotten from Lord Mark. And for the last four months the pay had been at the grade of Captain—which was significantly more than what a lieutenant got. She needed to make sure she didn’t get careless; she’d be back at a lieutenant’s pay soon enough.

 

Her company boarded a shuttle—one was enough for all of them—and started down. It was spring on north continent and the greens and browns of Barrayar welcomed them back. It wasn’t as lush as Novo Paveo, but it was home.

 

 _They_ were home.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Miles? Are you busy, dear?”

 

Count Miles Vorkosigan looked up from his comconsole and smiled when he saw his wife standing in the doorway of his study. “You don’t need to tip-toe around me anymore, love. It’s been three months and I’m fine.”

 

“I haven’t been tip-toeing.”

 

“Yes you have. Everyone has. From you, to the kids, to the armsmen, to Ma Kosti, everyone has been acting like I’m an antique vase teetering on the edge of a shelf, just ready to fall and smash to pieces. I’m _fine_.”

 

“Of course you are.”

 

“It’s not like I’m the first person to ever lose a parent. It happens to everyone sooner or later—assuming they live that long.”

 

Ekaterin walked over to him and took his hand. “Very well then, no more tip-toeing. I see that both our schedules are relatively open for the next few weeks and I want to invite Anny to come stay for a while.”

 

A chill went through Miles and his smile faltered. “Maybe some tip-toeing is still in order.”

 

“Miles, we have to invite her. She’s just gotten back from almost two years off-planet! And I want to see her and so does Helen.”

 

“I know, I know, I just… I’m not sure I can face her.”

 

“And why is that?” Her tone of voice was the old ‘I-know-perfectly-well-why-but-I’m-going-to-make-you-say-it-out-loud’ tone that she sometimes used with the kids—and sometimes with him.

 

“I was the one who got her sent out there. It was my idea to send her regiment to Novo Paveo. I thought I was doing it to avoid any trouble back here. And instead… instead I sent her into that meat-grinder!”

 

“You couldn’t have known.”

 

“No, but that doesn’t change the fact that because of me she lost her arm and two-thirds of her troops. I wouldn’t blame her if she turned an invitation down flat!”

 

“Well, if she does, then you won’t have to face her. But I doubt she will do any such thing. She’s not like that, and you know it.”

 

“No, of course not. She’d come even if she hates me now.”

 

“I seriously doubt she does. Now, I’ll send out the invitation right away. And I want to have a welcome home dinner. Do you think I should invite Gregor and Laisa?”

 

“Oh God… I don’t know.”

 

“What’s the problem?”

 

“Well, I think Gregor feels worse about this whole thing than I do. Not just for Anny, but for everybody who lost someone.”

 

“He _did_ make a huge contribution to the 61 st’s regimental fund—anonymously, of course.”

 

“Yes, doesn’t surprise me. He was agonizing over this whole venture before we even sent them off. He was hoping—praying—that we could pull this off with minimal losses. None of us were expecting what happened.”

 

“I doubt she blames him any more than she blames you.”

 

“No, well, go ahead and invite them. They can always beg off if Gregor can’t bear it.”

 

“How likely is that? Eventually he will have to face her, won’t he? I mean surely she’s going to be awarded some medal or other for what she did.” Yes, the story of the 61st’s gallant charge was all over the news and Anny’s role in it figured prominently.

 

“Maybe. The whole issue of medals and awards is a hot topic right now.”

 

“What do you mean? She certainly deserves a medal!”

 

“Yes, she does. And so do all the rest. Every man-jack of them. Singling out certain ones for special treatment is going to look a trifle… unfair.”

 

“I thought that _unfair_ was the way things were done in the military.”

 

“True. But we’re trying to improve things. Just like you are with the families. But don’t worry, she will be acknowledged and rewarded. There was talk of giving her the Vorbarra Cross, but I think the consensus is that all the VCs given out will be posthumous.”

 

“Oh, well that’s lovely!” huffed Ekaterin. “What good does it do a dead man?”

 

“More than you’d think. The VC comes with an automatic pension and educational benefits for the survivors. Could help out some of the families quite a lot.”

 

“Oh, I see. That’s different. Hopefully they’ll give one to all the dead.”

 

Miles grimaced. “Doesn’t work that way. But I understand about a dozen will be awarded. It’s all being reviewed now.”

 

“Well, I shall leave that to others. In the meantime I’ll get the invitations sent out. Who else do you think I should invite to the dinner? Jer and her friends Alby and Patric I was already going to invite to come and stay for a while. My aunt and uncle, Ivan, Tej, Alys and Simon, and the Koudelkas. Anyone else in particular?”

 

“Hmmm, let me think…”

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Anny looked at the huge old pile of stone that was Vorkosigan House and sighed. There was a part of her that considered this place home more than anywhere else. She’d told herself dozens of times not to think that way, but she couldn’t help it. In any case, it was very good to be here again.

 

They had landed at Fort Vorolson a week ago and been immediately told to go on leave for a month. This had been partly out of consideration for the troops and partly because the higher-ups were still figuring out exactly how the regiment was going to be rebuilt. So the memorial services that Anny had dreaded had all been put on hold. A month with nothing to do. Well, she and Jer had found something to do immediately. And then Alby had invited them to his house. Patric had headed back to South Continent. The situation at Alby’s house had been a little awkward. He hadn’t been home since his father died and he was now master of the household. His mother had been difficult and his sister had clearly been taking charge of things and wasn’t inclined to defer to Alby—a brother less than half her age. After a few days she and Jer were thinking about leaving. Then the invitation from the Vorkosigans had arrived and they all, even Alby, were quick to accept. Patric, tied up with family down south, had regretfully declined.

 

The ImpSec guard at the gate started to scan them through, but stopped them when his scanner made a loud beep. “Uh, Captain?” he said, “Are you carrying any weapons? Unusual electronic devices?”

 

“What? You mean this?” replied Anny holding out her left arm. The man blinked, ran a hand scanner over it and then frowned.

 

“Artificial?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Oh. Uh, I’m going to have to call this in to headquarters. You’ll have to wait a moment.”

 

Alby snorted. “Corporal, you know who this is, don’t you? And how she got that?” To Anny’s horror, there were stories about her all over the place and it was highly unlikely that the ImpSec corporal didn’t know.

 

“Sorry, sir. Regulations.” He ducked back into his guard shack and activated his communicator.

 

“ImpSec,” grumbled Alby. “I had my fill of ‘em on Novo Paveo.”

 

“I guess the security here is even tighter now that he’s a count,” said Jer.

 

They had only been waiting a few seconds when they saw the front door of Vorkosigan House open and a small figure, who Anny immediately recognized as Helen Vorkosigan, came pelting down the steps shrieking at the top of her lungs. _My God, look how big she is!_ She was followed at a much more sedate pace by the Count and Countess and several armsmen. Helen reached the gate and glared at the ImpSec corporal. “Leo! You open this gate at once!” she commanded. “These are my friends!”

 

The poor man looked at the girl, back at his com panel, and then over to the approaching Count. Vorkosigan gave a small wave of his hand as he limped along, leaning on a cane. The corporal nodded and made a bow to Helen. “At once m’lady!” He opened the gate and they passed through. Helen immediately leaped into Anny’s arms. She was big and _heavy_.

 

“Anny! You’re home!”

 

“Yes, I am.” _Yeah, I guess I am, aren’t I?_

 

The others came up and she shook Vorkosigan’s hand and got a hug from the Countess. Vorkosigan looked at the guard. “What was the problem, Corporal? I told you they were coming and should be passed through.”

 

“Uh, well, my lord,” gobbled the man. “The Captain’s… uh…”

 

“His sensors didn’t like my arm, my lord,” explained Anny.

 

“Ah!” said Vorkosigan, his eyebrows shooting up in enlightenment. “I should have warned you about that, Corporal. My error.”

 

“What’s the matter with your arm?” asked Helen, looking at her curiously. Anny’s eyes went to her parents. She didn’t know? What did they want her to tell Helen? After a moment of silence, Ekaterin stepped forward.

 

“Anny got hurt pretty badly while she was away, Helen. She lost her arm.”

 

“Lost it! How could you lose your arm? Which one?”

 

“My left one, Helen,” said Anny. It was the one holding her up and she looked down at it suspiciously. “I’ve got an artificial one until they grow me a new one.”

 

“Can I see?” A small nod from Ekaterin and Anny let Helen down and pulled up her sleeve a bit and showed Helen. The child looked it over. “It looks weird,” she declared.

 

“Well, it’s not the best match for me. When they grow the new one it will look exactly right.”

 

“When will you get the new one?”

 

“It takes a while to grow one and they just started. So about four months.”

 

“Why didn’t Corporal Leo like this one?”

 

“It’s got a lot of electronic parts inside. He has to be careful about the sort of things he lets inside.”

 

“’Cause Da is a count now?”

 

“Partly,” said Vorkosigan. “But come on, we don’t need to be all standing here. Come in! Come in!” Despite their protests, the armsmen collected their luggage and carried it in ahead of them. The rest of the party, matching their pace to Vorkosigan’s, followed more slowly.

 

“How did you lose your arm?” persisted Helen.

 

Anny looked to Ekaterin again. The woman didn’t look happy, but she nodded again. “I was in a battle, Helen. The enemy shot it off.”

 

“Really?” The girl’s eyes were wide as saucers. “Wait ‘til I tell Sasha!”

 

“Soldiering’s a dangerous job, Dearheart,” said Vorkosigan.

 

Helen turned to Jer and Alby. “Were you in the battle?” Jer nodded, but Alby stiffened and said nothing. “Did _you_ lose anything?”

 

“Just my mind,” snorted Alby.

 

“No,” said Jer. “I was lucky.”

 

“Your Uncle Ivan was there, too, Helen,” said Ekaterin, obviously trying to turn the conversation.

 

“ _Uncle Ivan_? In a battle?”

 

“Yes, indeed,” said the Count. “You’ll have to ask him to tell you all about it.”

 

They passed through the entry doors and across the beautiful mosaic floor that Ekaterin had designed. Anny sighed in pleasure. It really was good to be back. They were shown to their rooms and then joined the Count and Countess and all four of the children in the Yellow Parlor for lunch. Anny had almost forgotten how good a Ma Kosti meal could be.

 

The adults steered the conversation away from the events on Novo Paveo as much as they possibly could for the children’s sake, but it was hard to ask questions about all they had missed on Barrayar while they were away without straying onto what must have been the equally painful topic of the late count’s death. Still, the new Count didn’t seem to mind talking and they touched upon it from time to time. Finally, Anny got up the nerve to ask the one question she had been wondering about.

 

“My Lord, I understand that your mother is still on Sergyar. Will she be coming back here soon? I’d dearly like to see her again.”

 

“Good question,” said Vorkosigan with a sigh. “She offered to stay on as vicereine, until Gregor decides what he wants to do about things there. I get the impression that she might want to stay even longer.”

 

“She does seem to have fallen in love with the place,” said Ekaterin.

 

“She and my father really poured themselves into it. I think it’s important to her to see it through.”

 

“And that is where they met each other.”

 

“Really?” asked Anny. She hadn’t heard that story.

 

“Oh yes,” said Vorkosigan. “Back when they were on opposite sides of a not-quite shooting war. She as a Betan Survey captain and my Da as captain of a Barrayaran warship. You’ll have to get her to tell you the whole story sometime.”

 

“I hope I get the chance, My Lord.”

 

“So do I. I’ve got no clue how long she might stay on. Of course, there is enormous pressure building in the Council of Counts to get her out of there.”

 

“Really? Why?”

 

“Oh, it all goes back to the… acquisition of Sergyar,” replied Vorkosigan. “At the time there were a lot of counts who were demanding that the place be sliced up into new districts for new counts. I guess they were all hoping to have places to give to their younger sons and such. Old Emperor Ezar held them off, claiming that the colony was still too vulnerable to invasion and used that as an excuse for years to keep it as a closely held Imperial fief. When my father became regent he continued the policy and Gregor has seen fit to do the same. But there was always an understanding—at least among the counts—that eventually new districts would be created. Now, they are looking at this as the perfect time to go ahead with that. None of them dared press for it while my father was viceroy, but now…”

 

“If they have any sense, they won’t try to pressure your mother, either,” said Ekaterin, her eyes crinkling over the rim of her teacup.

 

“Yes, well, some of them might need to be reminded of that, love.”

 

“What do you think His Majesty will do?” asked Jer.

 

“I don’t really know. But you can ask him yourself tomorrow night, if you want.”

 

“What?” All three of the officers said the same thing simultaneously.

 

“We wanted to have a little welcome home dinner for you,” explained Ekaterin.

 

“Oh my,” said Anny. “Jer and I lost all our kits on Novo Paveo. We haven’t had time to get new red-and-blues or…”

 

“Nonsense!” laughed Vorkosigan. “This is a family party, not some Imperial review! Undress greens will do fine—or civvies if you prefer.”

 

“I don’t really have anything… the greens will be fine, My Lord.”

 

Vorkosigan cleared his throat. “I thought we agreed to drop the ‘my lords’, Anny.”

 

“You weren’t a count then, My Lord.”

 

Ekaterin laughed. “Back to Square One, dear.”

 

 

Anny spent most of the next day worrying about the dinner that evening. She’d met the Emperor twice before; once at the Academy and then again right after she graduated when he made her that amazing offer to join his security detail. He had seemed very nice both times, but he was still the Emperor, her liege-lord. She’d sworn an oath to die for him when she’d gotten her commission. Not someone you could engage in idle chit-chat!

 

But despite her trepidations, the next evening and the dinner arrived on schedule. The Vorkosigan armsmen had gotten their hands on her undress greens and they were brushed, creased, and polished to perfection, with all the appropriate ribbons and badges in place. The total guest list was around thirty and with all the Vorkosigan armsmen, Vorbarra armsmen, servants and ImpSec people bustling about, the mansion seemed crowded. The Emperor wouldn’t arrive until later and Count Vorkosigan explained that for tonight, he would appear in his Count Vorbarra persona, so he was _my lord_ rather than _sire._ One of the earlier arrivals was Lord Vorpatril and Lady Vorpatril. Anny had noticed during her earlier stays that whenever there was Ma Kosti food involved, Vorpatril tended to arrive early and stay late. But on this night, he headed for her rather than the hors d’oeuvres tray. “Anny,” he said, smiling. “Good evening.”

 

“Good evening, My Lord,” she replied.

 

“No,” he said firmly. “My name is Ivan. And after all we went through, I’m not going to let you ‘my lord’ me the way you do my cousin.”

 

 _Oh dear, not again…_ Anny, brought up in a very traditional household, by a father who had spent twenty years in the military, and then living under military discipline for the last six years, herself, had a very strong sense of what was proper and what was not. Vor were… well, Vor, and you simply did not treat them like you would other plain folks. She’d forced herself to deal with Lady—now countess—Vorkosigan on a first name basis, but it still made her uncomfortable. The Count wanted her to call him Miles, and now Lord Vorpatril wanted her to call him by his first name. It just wasn’t right. But what could she do?

 

“Uh, sir…”

 

“Ivan.”

 

“ _Sir_ , as a serving military officer, I don’t think it is appropriate for me to address you in that fashion in public. I’ve let the Count talk me down to _sir_ , and I would be willing to do that with you, too. Sir.”

 

“Anny…”

 

“Ivan Xav,” interrupted Vorpatril’s wife. “You’re clearly making her uncomfortable. Don’t be a twit.”

 

“Yes, Ivan, don’t be a twit,” said the Count, coming up behind him. “What was he being a twit about, Tej?”

 

“Nothing,” said Lord Vorpatril, testily. He looked back at Anny, smiling a tight smile. “A pleasure seeing you again, _Captain Payne.”_

“And you, sir.” Had she offended him? It was hard to tell.

 

Vorkosigan brushed past him and came up to her. “Anny? The Koudelkas are here. I’m sure you want to see Drou and Kou.”

 

“Oh yes… I think.”

 

“If you’re worried what they’ll be feeling about your arm, don’t. They’ve lived with Kou’s injuries for most of their lives. And they know about the realities of military service, so they’ll take it in stride the way you have. Now come along.” He led her back into the entry hallway and there were Drou and the Commodore. Coming in behind them were two of their daughters, Delia and Martya, and their husbands. Drou smiled broadly, but she also had a tinge of worry on her face as she came forward to hug her.

 

“Anny! Welcome home!”

 

“Thank you, Drou, it’s good to be back,” she replied, hugging her in return. The Commodore settled for a handshake, but his smile seemed untainted by anything.

 

“Seems you had quite an adventure, Anny. And congratulations, Captain.”

 

“It’s just a brevet, sir. I doubt I’ll keep it for long.”

 

“Oh, don’t be so sure.” The Commodore’s smile grew a trifle until Drou nudged him. What was that all about? The others came up to extend their greetings. Martya’s husband, the Escobaran scientist, appeared a bit confused about who she was, or where she’d been, but he’d always acted rather distracted the times she had met him before. Delia’s husband, Commodore Galeni, on the other hand, seemed to know everything about the events on Novo Paveo, and considering his high post in ImpSec, that was hardly surprising.

 

“Well done, Captain, well done,” he said. “You’ve given the military historians enough material for a few dozen books.”

 

“Hardly me, sir,” she protested. “The 61st certainly, but not me.”

 

“Well, history will be the judge of that, won’t it? But tell me, is your comrade, Lieutenant Vorsworth, here tonight?”

 

“Yes, sir, in the library, last I saw him.”

 

“Good, I want a word with him. His analysis work during the operations was most impressive.” Galeni headed for the library.

 

More guests were arriving and Ekaterin’s aunt seemed to confirm that there would be much to interest historians in the Novo Pavean campaign. “Military history is not my field, dear,” she said, “but the expedition was such an unprecedented example of interstellar cooperation—no matter the myriad of ulterior motives—that it will undoubtedly keep many of my colleagues busy for years to come.”

 

Shortly before dinner, the Emperor and Empress arrived. The Emperor wore a conservative suit in Vorbarra colors. The Empress, as was often her habit, wore Komarran style trousers and bolero in colors that complimented her husband’s, without mimicking them. There was no time for anything beyond a polite greeting before they were ushered off to the dining room.

 

Anny was embarrassed, but somehow not surprised, to find herself seated on Vorkosigan’s left, directly across from the Emperor. Ivan Vorpatril was to her own left, with his wife, opposite to him, next to the Emperor. The food was wonderful, of course, but Anny really couldn’t pay attention to it, not surrounded with the highest of the high Vor.

 

The conversations around the table started out lightly enough, but inevitably came to deal more and more with Novo Paveo and the battle there. Anny tried to downplay her role and spoke only in general terms, playing up, instead the heroism of the Regiment as a whole. She made special mention of the heroic actions of the medical services and the vivandieres. This caught the attention of Professora Vorthys, who asked a number of questions. Anny promised to give her Chris Tropio’s contact information. Anny remembered Chris’ ambition to attend medical school once she left the service; perhaps the Professora could help her out.

 

Jer and Alby were farther down the table and she couldn’t tell what they were talking about most of the time. At least Alby appeared to be limiting his wine intake and didn’t become overly boisterous. Commodore Galeni was seated near him and kept him closely engaged.

 

Lord Vorpatril was obliged to speak of his role and he did so with a reluctance that matched Anny’s. She noted that Vorpatril’s mother’s expression grew darker and darker as he spoke and she made several pointed comments about he and his wife getting to work on some grandchildren in the near future—before he could get involved with any additional foolishness. “Yes, mother,” said Vorpatril with a long sigh. “We are planning to see the doctor next week.”

 

“Well, congratulations, Ivan!” said Simon Illyan from further down the table. The former ImpSec chief smiled broadly.

 

“Yes, and it’s about time, coz,” added Vorkosigan. More congratulations came from all along the table and Vorpatril’s mother settled back in her chair with a satisfied smile on her face. Much of the talk was directed at Lord Vorpatril’s wife for a while, who didn’t seem all that happy with the attention, although she smiled and gave all the right responses.

 

But eventually the talk turned back to Novo Paveo and its aftermath. When the dessert dishes were being removed, Anny was surprised to get a question from far down the table, from the Escobaran, Enrique Borgos: “What are your plans now, Captain Payne?”

 

“Sir? Well, I’ll still be on leave for a few weeks, but then it will be back to Fort Vorolson. We have a lot of work to do to… put things right.”

 

“So you will be going back? To soldiering and all?”

 

“Of course, sir. It’s what I do.”

 

“So I hear. But from what everyone here has said, I’d think you’d be getting every medal that Barrayar has to offer. Not much more to accomplish in that line. Why not try something new?”

 

Anny held back an embarrassed laugh, but just then Count Vorkosigan cleared his throat noisily and stood up. “Thank you Doctor Borgos for that convenient segue.” Vorkosigan paused and muttered, barely to be heard by those at the head of the table: “As incredible at that seems.” Then he went on more loudly. “The question has been raised about medals and recognition for the gallant men and women of the Barrayaran Expeditionary Force. I believe that Gregor has a word or two to say on that subject. But before that happens, I want to give a toast to Anny and Jer and Alby—and of course, Ivan and Tej—welcoming them all home.” He raised his glass and the other guests did likewise. “Welcome home!” they all cried. Vorkosigan took a long sip from his glass and then sat down again, nodding to the Emperor.

 

“Ah, yes,” said the sovereign of three worlds. “Welcome home, indeed. We are very glad to have you back again. Sending you off has proven to be one of the harder decisions I’ve had to make during my reign. When making grand strategic decisions it is far too easy to delude oneself into thinking that the forces we move so blithely around the map are nothing more than unfeeling counters in some game.” The Emperor’s expression darkened and his sharp eyes moved over Anny and the other returnees. “But we are not moving counters; we are moving men and women, living beings who can be hurt and who can bleed. Those of you here at this table, and the thousands of others in the BEF, have indeed bled and indeed been hurt in both spirit and flesh. For that you have the sincerest thanks of both myself and the Empire.

 

“Of course I am speaking to but five of you here tonight. What I say is for every one of the Barrayarans who served so nobly in a cause which, well, perhaps wasn’t so noble. There will be public pronouncements soon, but tonight I am, here in this circle of friends, speaking from my heart, to express to you how proud I am of you all, and how humbling it is to command such men and women.”

 

Anny’s skin was tingling. Circle of friends? Was he including her in that? Her emperor’s words were… she couldn’t describe it. She felt like she had when she took her oath to him on the Academy parade ground two years earlier. At this moment she wanted to kneel down and pledge him her loyalty all over again. _Wherever you wish to send me, Sire, I will go gladly._

 

“My military advisors,” continued the Emperor, “tell me that the actions of the 61st Regiment were among the most courageous of any unit in the Barrayaran military—indeed in any human military—in our long and bloody history. While not as widely read as some, I cannot help but agree. Such gallantry needs to be acknowledged and rewarded.” He paused and glanced at Count Vorkosigan. “A list of decorations to be awarded has been drawn up and should be announced in a few days. I can assure each of you here that your accomplishments will not go unnoticed.

 

“For a starter, I can inform you that all of the brevet promotions made on Novo Paveo will be confirmed.” His gaze went to Anny and he smiled. “Congratulations, Captain Payne.”

 

Anny was utterly gobsmacked. She’d dared to dream that she would be confirmed as captain, but she never thought of it as more than a pleasing fantasy. But to receive it now from the Emperor himself! The others at the table all applauded and Alby shouted out: “Way to go, Anny!”

 

“Th-thank, you, si…, er, My Lord,” she stuttered, barely remembering not to call him _sire_.

 

“You are most welcome, Captain. There will, of course be a campaign ribbon for all who participated in the expedition, and the 61st Regiment will be awarded the Imperial Unit Citation.” He paused again and spun the stem of his wine glass between two fingers before stopping himself. “Having read the after-action reports of the battle and watching some of the video recordings, I came to the conclusion that an action so extraordinary requires an additional award that is also… extra-ordinary. So, I have consulted with the Master of Heraldry, and We have decided that a special medal, commemorating the Battle of Milagres, is to be struck. It shall be awarded to all those who served in the action. The troops fighting, the medical services, supporting them, even the local militia units. It shall be given to them, but no others shall ever wear it. I’m told that such a thing has only been done three times in Imperial history.” He glanced at Vorkosigan again and then said: “Well, I think that’s all. But now, let me propose a toast to all of Barrayar’s heroes.” He got to his feet and everyone else did as well. They raised their glasses and drank.

 

Quite a while later, the guests were mingling, or sitting or strolling as they pleased. It pleased Anny to be mingling, sitting or strolling with Jer. The guests sipped fine wine and nibbled on dainties provided by Ma Kosti. Anny and Jer nibbled on the dainties and occasionally on each other. They’d both had a little too much to drink and Jer kept calling her _Captain_ , and she responded by calling him _Hero_. They laughed quite a lot.

 

Alby was still being hounded by Commodore Galeni and she wondered if the end of the evening would see Alby dragooned into ImpSec. Such things could happen, after all. She hoped it didn’t. In the normal course of things, Alby wouldn’t be given the option of turning it down the way she had.

 

The two of them were standing on one of the balconies, taking in the cool spring air, when one of the armsmen found them. “Captain? Lieutenant? The Count has asked you to join him for a moment.” He led them to one of the smaller sitting rooms on the first floor. Count Vorkosigan was there. So was Count Vorbarra. _Oh dear… what now?_

 

“Relax, Anny,” said Vorkosigan with a smile. “Gregor isn’t going to try and talk you into joining his security detail again, if that’s what you were thinking.” Anny relaxed slightly. She _had_ been thinking exactly that. Vorkosigan turned sharply toward the Emperor. “And that reminds me: you never paid me the mark I won on that bet.”

 

The Emperor smiled, but didn’t answer Vorkosigan. Instead he gestured to the chairs. “Please, let’s sit down. This is just an informal chat I wanted to have with you. There are a few things I wanted to tell you, and a few questions I want to ask.” They found their seats and the armsman left, closing the door behind him.

 

“First,” began the Emperor, “let me reiterate my gratitude to you—and all your comrades—for the job you did on Novo Paveo. My own advisors tell me that if the EnBees had been allowed to carry out their plans unhindered then the situation might well have become a disaster of major proportions. The warning provided by you, Captain, Lord Vorpatril, and Lieutenant Vorsworth were critical. Equally critical was the gallant fight put up by the 61st and their supporting forces. Finally, even with all of that, the destruction of the enemy machine; that you carried out, Lieutenant, was the decisive blow. Failure at any one of those points might have left the enemy in control of Araxa with a hundred thousand hostages and leaving us with an impossible situation.”

 

Anny wanted to protest and she could tell that Jer did as well, but there was no way she could force herself to interrupt.

 

“Instead, we have managed to walk away from this and can call it a victory.” He shook his head. “A victory, but at a terrible cost. A valuable lesson, too, I hope. I thank you for both.”

 

“Sire!” said Anny, finding her voice. “You can hardly give us credit for…” The Emperor raised his hand and she cut herself off.

 

“Yes. You are correct. In the face of such enormous sacrifice, to single out a few people for special reward or acclaim would be inappropriate and grossly unfair. Therefore it has been decided that the highest awards shall be granted posthumously. After a close review of the records of the battle, eleven Vorbarra Crosses shall be bestowed. One to Colonel Fetherbay and the other ten to men who gave their lives for their comrades during the battle.” Anny breathed a sigh of relief.

 

“A great many other medals will be given out, as well, of course” continued the Emperor, “to both the living and the dead. Lieutenant Vorsworth will receive a Distinguished Service Star. You, Lieutenant Naddel, along with about thirty others, will be awarded the Medal for Conspicuous Gallantry.” Anny felt Jer stiffen beside her. “Yes, I know that you could not have done what you did without all the other men who made the charge. But the fact remains that you did it and that will be recognized.” A warm glow grew inside Anny. Yes, this was well deserved!

 

“Thank you, Sire,” gasped Jer.

 

“Captain Payne,” Anny’s attention was jerked back to the Emperor. “You already have an MCG and it will be adorned with oak leaves and crossed swords.” Now Anny gasped, too. Those two additions elevated the medal to a position only a tiny step below a Vorbarra Cross! She could scarcely believe it.

 

“Thank you, Sire.”

 

“You are both most welcome. But now I have a question for you, Captain. There has been quite a bit made in some circles of your statement to General Vordanov that you did not lead the final charge. Now the records from the battle armor suits clearly show that you _did_ lead the charge. Colonel Fetherbay was dead and had issued no order to charge. You, on your own, took the regimental colors and called upon your comrades to attack—and then you led the way. So, I have to ask: why did you say that to Vordanov?”

 

Anny was silent for a moment marshaling her thoughts. She’d asked herself that question a hundred times since that day.

 

“Captain?”

 

“Sire, the _Regiment_ made the charge. The 61 st Regiment made the charge. And the 61st was Colonel Fetherbay’s regiment. It was what he had made it. He trained us and molded us into the unit that could take eighty percent casualties and still not break. If he hadn’t done that, then my… gesture would have led to nothing. And I was ready to run, Sire, I really was. I was more frightened than I’d ever been in my life. I wanted to run and I was ready to. But then Colonel Fetherbay reminded me of my duty; reminded me what the oath I’d taken really means. All I did was to remind everyone else of the same thing. They reacted just as I had. So yes, Colonel Fetherbay _did_ lead that charge, in every way that matters.”

 

Now the Emperor was silent. Count Vorkosigan was as still as if he was carved from stone. Finally, the Emperor nodded his head.

 

“Yes, yes, I see,” he said, a tiny tremor in his voice. “Sometimes everyone needs to be reminded of their duty. Everyone.” He relaxed a bit and Vorkosigan took a breath. Anny found herself quivering.

 

The Emperor sat back in his chair, cleared his throat, rubbed his nose and blinked. “Well. There is one more thing—two, actually. As I said, the list of medals to be awarded was drawn up by the military and reviewed and approved by me. I rarely interfere with things like that and I did not this time. However, I do have it in my power to bestow certain _non-military_ honors without it being reviewed by anyone. The chief of these is the _Emperor’s Thanks_. It was created by my grandfather, mostly as a reward to political cronies, but since his time has been used to recognize Imperial citizens who have made outstanding contributions in all manner of ways from the scientific and artistic, to charitable and community service. Captain Payne, you most definitely have _this_ emperor’s thanks.”

 

Anny didn’t know what to say, but Vorkosigan smiled. “That’s very well done, Gregor. Should have thought of that myself.”

 

“Oh, and there’s one more thing,” said the Emperor. He pulled a flimsy from his pocket, unfolded it and handed it to Anny. “I’ve received this request. And I fully approve.”

 

Anny looked at it and gasped.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Jer sat on the hard seat of the bleachers and watched Anny step up to the podium on the reviewing stand. There was a considerable stir among the other spectators, but not even a twitch from the three thousand cadets assembled on the field below him. Anny had been absolutely flabbergasted by the request that she be the guest speaker at this year’s graduation ceremonies at the Imperial Service Academy. Jer had been delighted, but Anny had been reduced to a quivering mess for the two weeks between the dinner at Vorkosigan House and today’s events. _What am I going to say? How can I possibly speak in front of all those people? And stop smiling at me you lunk!_ It had been an interesting couple of weeks.

 

“Think she’ll pass out?” whispered Alby from beside him. He was here, too, since his girl, Abigail Vorburn, was graduating today.

 

“Don’t think so,” he whispered back. “But I think she’s more frightened of this than she was to charge that MPDC.” Alby grinned and looked like he would have said something more, but then someone shushed them and they had to shut up.

 

The Academy adjutant who had introduced Anny stepped aside and Anny took his place. She had several sheets of flimsies which she shuffled nervously. She looked out at the cadets, looked down at her notes, and then looked up again and began.

 

“Imperial cadets, two short years ago I stood where you stand now, on this very field, and wondered what the future held for me.” Anny’s voice didn’t reveal any of the nervousness Jer knew she was feeling. It wasn’t quite her ‘command voice’, but nearly so. The sound system carried it clearly to all corners of the field. “I never imagined that I would find myself here today, addressing you. I never imagined the road I would have to travel to return here. But that is the nature of the future: it gives us no warnings, no maps, telling us what to expect. We cannot predict the future; we can only prepare ourselves to meet whatever it might hold. Preparing for the future is what we are taught here at the Academy. It is the lesson I learned and it is the lesson you must learn.”

 

Jer stared at Anny with satisfaction. She looked wonderful in her dress greens, blue captain’s tabs on her collar, sword at her side. Her MCG hung on a ribbon at her throat. Jer’s MCG was on his chest, but the addition of the oak leaves and swords called for Anny to wear hers that way. Of course, she had her Distinguished Service Stars on her chest along with her _three_ wound medals and the campaign medal and the new _Milagres Medal_ they’d all received. On the opposite side of her tunic there were her Imperial Unit Citation, Infantry Combat Badge, Assault Badge, and the small glittering starburst of the _Emperor’s Thanks_. It made quite a display. Damn he was proud of her!

 

Actually, Anny could have made an even more impressive display if she’d wanted to. Over the last two weeks, to her intense embarrassment, she’d started getting decorations from foreign militaries, members of the Alliance, often delivered personally by ambassadors and envoys to Vorkosigan House. Anny’s fame had spread far and wide. Five medals had arrived so far and according to Count Vorkosigan more could be expected. Anny’s embarrassment quotient had reached critical levels. She’d thanked the people delivering them, and then packed the decorations away.

 

She continued to speak, telling the cadets of the importance of the things they learned at the Academy, giving examples from her own experience that didn’t quite touch on the events that everyone here had heard all about. “She’s gotta get over that modesty of hers, someday,” whispered Alby. “Not good for advancing careers.”

 

“She’s done alright, even with the modesty,” replied Jer.

 

“True.”

 

“Finally,” said Anny, “let me talk about the oaths you seniors will soon swear. The words you will speak will be—should be—the most important you will ever say. With them you are committing yourselves to a life of service to our Emperor, to our worlds, and to our people. Once said, they can never be unsaid. It is an awesome responsibility. It is also the highest honor any of us can ever aspire to. So speak them proudly! And then live by them each day. Thank you, very much.” Anny stepped back from the podium.

 

The applause that swept over the field started from the crowd of spectators in the bleachers and was the polite sort of clapping you’d expect. Jer and Alby clapped harder than most, of course. But then, from among the seated dignitaries on the reviewing stand, a tall figure got to his feet. There was a bit of a gasp among the watchers, but then the applause grew louder. The other people on the platform got to their feet and then all the people in the bleachers rose as well and the applause grew to a roar. Anny stood there in confusion and even from thirty meters away, Jer could see her blushing a bright pink. _Maybe she will faint._

 

Alby started whistling and others did, too. It went on for a good two or three minutes and then slowly started to die down. But then suddenly there was a roll of drums and a trilling of fifes from the cadets’ regimental band. This was then followed by three cheers roared out by the thousands of assembled cadets.

 

Jer and Alby looked at each other in surprise. Nothing like this had ever happened during their four years at the Academy! But then the guest speakers at those earlier graduations had all been by old men at the end of their careers. Men who none of the cadets had ever met. But Anny, Anny was one of them. Two of the classes here had known her, seen her, and the younger two classes had certainly heard all about her. She was one of them, and the first lesson that every cadet learned was that they took care of their own. Always.

 

Anny looked this way and that, cheeks glistening with tears. She finally found her chair and collapsed into it and looked down until the roar slowly died away. The rest of the ceremony went on, but Anny scarcely moved. She sat there with hands clasped. Jer’s eyes remained on her and she did risk a glance in his direction from time to time.

 

Finally it was time for the pass in review and they all got to their feet as the cadets marched past. Abbie Vorburn was leading one of the companies in the battalion of newly commissioned officers. Alby waved to her, but she couldn’t respond, of course. The companies and battalions marched by, saluting the Emperor. Jer couldn’t help but think that some of them were probably saluting Anny, too.

 

When it was over they waited for some of the crowd to disperse so they could find Anny and Abbie. Count Vorkosigan had once again promised to treat them all to dinner.

 

“Well,” breathed Alby, “there’s something you don’t see every day.”

 

“No,” agreed Jer. “And I think it might be a long time before they see anything like her again.”

 

“That’s for sure. Come on, let’s find everyone and then go eat. I’m hungry.”

 

 

 

 

**Epilogue**

 

The sun had barely cleared the ridge to the east, and the town of Malverton was only now coming awake. The man had been awake for hours, dozing only now and then on the long monorail ride from Vorbar Sultana. His excitement and agitation would have defeated any attempt at a more prolonged slumber even if he’d been in a feather bed. Perhaps this would be the day!

 

He’d been lurking around the city park ever since he’d arrived, checking the time every few minutes. Where the hell was Adrien? He should have been here by now! He took another turn around the small pond and then caught sight of someone approaching. Was it…? Yes! He walked quickly to intercept the new arrival. “Hello, Adrien,” he said extending his hand. “Good to see you again.”

 

To his surprise, no handshake was forthcoming. Adrien kept his hands at his side and frowned. “What do you want, Yosef?”

 

“What do I want?” he asked incredulously. “You know perfectly well what I want! Is she here? Can it be arranged? Will you help?”

 

His cousin stared him straight in the eyes. “No, Yosef, I can’t help you. Go back where you came from.”

 

“What are you talking about? You promised to help me!”

 

“That was… before.”

 

”Before? Before what? What’s the matter? You were so enthusiastic about this! The stuff you pulled on the Bitch was brilliant! I read your messages about it again and again. It’s time to take this to the next step!”

 

“There isn’t going to be any next step,” answered Adrien in an icy voice. “Not involving me. And if you’ve got a gram of sense, there won’t be one involving you, either. Let it be, Yosef.”

 

“Let it be? Let it be!” snarled the man. “That bitch dishonored me! Dishonored the family! She has to pay!”

 

“You dishonored yourself, Yosef. Let it be.”

 

“What is this? Just because her backers went and gave her another medal you fold? You’re going to side with her? Against me? Against the family? Blood, man! Blood is…”

 

“Blood!” cried Adrien. “What can you know about blood? You never saw a drop of it on that miserable little frigate of yours! I saw enough blood to fill that bucket to the deck head! The blood of my regiment! The regiment is my family now, Yosef! And like it or not, she’s a part of that family. Lift a finger against her and you’ll regret it! Now get the hell out of here. If I see hide or hair of you around here after this I’m calling ImpSec!” He turned and walked away.

 

The man stood there watching him go, a blinding rage building within him. His hand curled around the nerve disruptor in his pocket. He nearly drew it and shot down his cousin then and there. But no, that would ruin any chance for getting what he really wanted. He could wait. Yes, he could wait. Maybe she had friends, but he had friends, too. Friends who would help; friends who wouldn’t betray him.

 

He slowly regained control of himself and then headed back to the monorail station.

 

He could wait.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Thanks for putting me in for lance, sir, I really appreciate it.”

 

“You’re welcome,” said Anny to newly promoted Lance Corporal Bjorlin. “But I really did it for me. A company commander needs a dog-robber with a little rank. Helps in getting stuff, eh?”

 

“That it does, sir! That it does!” Bjorlin turned back to shinning her boots, whistling happily.

 

Bjorlin was working out pretty well, but Anny still really missed Jac. The older man seemed to get things done faster, with less intrusion on her space—and he didn’t whistle.

 

And he’d been a friend.

 

Bjorlin wasn’t quite there yet, but she supposed he’d grow into it. She put on her cap and moved to the door of her quarters, but turned back before she went through. “Don’t forget to get your own kit shined up. Everyone needs to be there today.”

 

“Oh yes, sir! Wouldn’t miss it.” Bjorlin’s usually smiling face turned somber for a moment. “Nobody should miss it. Not today.”

 

Anny left her quarters and walked over to the C Company barracks. The place was nearly deserted. After morning roll call, she’d turned the company over to Lieutenant Eric Vorgard, freshly returned to duty, and he and Ensign Milroy and First Sergeant Nikolaidis were putting the men through their usual routine. She went to her office and turned on her comconsole and called up the company roster.

 

They were still barely at half strength. All of the ‘lightly wounded’ had returned from the hospital. The more seriously wounded—the ones requiring cryo-revival—would not be returning for a long time. Most probably wouldn’t return at all. Some would require years of rehabilitation before they were fit for duty and others would be medically retired. Even those who were able to return to duty might not come back to the 61st. The regiment couldn’t leave those empty files vacant forever so they would need to be filled—by other men. Replacements were already starting to arrive at Fort Vorolson. None had actually been assigned to companies yet, but that would start very soon.

 

Anny missed those who were gone; Sergeant Kay, smart-assed Kerbeck, even fumble-fingered Griesmeyer. So many familiar faces were missing. But there would soon be nearly a hundred new faces in C Company. Part of her was eager to get them here. Get _her_ company back up to strength! The thought of it being her company was exciting. When she’d had her own company back at the Academy, those had been among the best times of her life. She hoped she could make the coming years just as good. Having her own platoon had been fun, but a company… that was what she had been made for.

 

She closed the roster and brought up today’s batch of paperwork. That was one thing she did miss about being a platoon commander: there was a lot less paperwork. She really needed to get another clerk. She had one, but he was overwhelmed with all the forms for the new gear they needed and with the arrival of the replacements it would only get worse. Maybe there would be someone among the new arrivals who had the skills for that sort of thing. On the other hand, the newcomers all had to be molded into assault troopers and that was more important than paperwork. For in the assault regiments everyone was a trooper first; whatever other job they had came a distant second. At Milagres everyone had been in the front lines and as a result there were some gaping holes in the administrative and support structure now.

 

At least most of the holes in the command structure had been filled. They had a new colonel, and to Anny’s delight it was a man named Lurray. He’d been the major in the 42nd Regiment when she’d been assigned to them for her senior year apprentice cruise. She had worked on his staff during the voyage home and she knew he was an experienced and competent officer. She knew everyone would have preferred to have someone promoted from within the 61st, but the most senior surviving officer had only been a captain and there was no way he could be jumped three grades to colonel. But Lurray was a good choice and she’d said so to the other officers and they were all willing to give him a chance. The lieutenant colonel was also new and Anny didn’t know him, but the new major had come from the 61st: they’d promoted Captain Vorjanis and almost everyone liked him.

 

So, a lot of changes. But overall the morale of the men was good. Promotions and a lot of medals and quite a lot of fame had taken some of the sting out of all those empty bunk. Once they had the chance to integrate the replacements, it would almost be like old times. They wouldn’t forget their lost comrades, but they would forge new friendships. The colonel of the 42nd had once told her: _The regiment is far more than flesh and blood. It lived long before we were born and we can pray that it will continue long after we’re gone. Those of us here are just caretakers._

 

And so it was. The 61st lived and it would go on living.

 

She worked for an hour or so and then she heard the company returning. She went outside as Vorgard halted them and dressed ranks. He saw her, smiled and saluted. “Everything in order, sir.”

 

“Very good, Lieutenant.” She stepped in front of the company. “Big day today, men. I don’t need to remind you what we’ll be doing or who will be watching. We all know how important it is. So look sharp! Assembly is at 1330.” She looked back at Vorgard. “You can dismiss them whenever you’re ready.” They exchanged saluted again and Anny stepped away.

 

As she turned, she noticed four people watching from a few dozen meters away. One of them was her dog-robber, Bjorlin, but the other three were wearing civvies. Three women _… what the…?_

“Hi Anny!” cried one of them, waving.

 

“Mama? Jenna? Becca?”

 

They came forward and Anny saw that they were indeed, her mother and two sisters. She stood there, completely stunned. Her mother came up and stopped two steps away. She was smiling but her eyes were nervous. Her sisters were smiling ear to ear and looked very excited. And grown up. They were what? Eighteen and twenty?

 

“Anny?” said her mother.

 

“Mama!” said Anny, finding her voice. “What in the word are you doing here? Is everything all right?”

 

“Everything’s fine!” said Jenna.

 

“We’re just here to see you!” added Becca.

 

“The Countess…”

 

“The _new_ Countess!”

 

“Yes, the new Countess sent a _lightflyer_ with a driver to pick us up!”

 

“Wow! It was so fast!”

 

“Mama nearly threw up!”

 

“Jenna!” hissed Mama. The girls subsided.

 

“Thank you for coming,” said Anny, totally bewildered. What was she going to do with them…?

 

“The Countess said it was important.” Her mother looked past her and Anny looked over her shoulder. Vorgard had dismissed the company, but most of them were standing there, watching. “Are those your… your men?” asked her mother.

 

“Yes, Ma, that’s my company.”

 

“And they… they do what you tell them? Those men?”

 

“Yes they do.”

 

Her mother looked at her, and then at the men, and then back at her. “So… so you really are a soldier.”

 

“Yes, Ma, I really am. Just like Da. Just like Peter wanted to be.”

 

“You came home that one time… wore that uniform… but I never really believed…” She looked her over. “This uniform is different.”

 

“Those were my cadet grays. These are just fatigues. Later today I’ll be in my dress greens. I… I assume you’ll be staying for the ceremony?”

 

“If… if that’s what’s happening. The Countess didn’t really explain. She just said it was important to see you today.”

 

“What’s going to happen?” demanded Jenna.

 

“The Emperor will be here today to…”

 

 _“The Emperor!”_ squealed her sisters in unison.

 

“Yes, he’ll be here to award some very important medals.”

 

“Are you getting one?”

 

“We’d heard that you were a big hero on that Novo whatever-it-was place.”

 

“No, but I have an important job to do as part of the ceremony.” She glanced over at Bjorlin. “How did you happen to find them, Lance Corporal?”

 

“Uh, they found, me sir. Or, that is, an officer from HQ brought them by your quarters. Apparently that’s where they were delivered.”

 

“I see. Well, I can take over from here. Thank you.”

 

“Very good, sir,” Bjorlin saluted and left.

 

Jenna snickered. “He called you _sir_!”

 

“Yes, that’s the way we do things here.” Anny took a deep breath and tried to clear her head. She checked the time. Nearly lunch… And her men were still gawking… She turned. “If you men don’t have anything to do, I’m sure I can find something.”

 

First Sergeant Nickolaidis appeared from nowhere. “All right you lunks! Get moving! I want that brass shined so bright the Emperor could eat off it!” The men dispersed, most of them smiling. Her sisters giggled.

 

“I’ve got a little over an hour before I have to start getting ready. Are you hungry? I can take you over to the mess hall and we can have lunch.”

 

They all agreed, although with some reluctance on her mother’s part. Anny took them to the officers’ section of the mess and they each got a tray full of food. She noted with interest that she wasn’t the only officer there with civilian guests. They found a table and sat down. “So everything is okay back home?”

 

“Yes, we’re doing fine,” answered her mother. “Thank you so much for sorting out that whole mess with the title to the farm.”

 

“You do have an actual title, now, yes? Registered and recorded?”

 

“Yes, that nice Mr. Tsipis took care of everything.”

 

“Did they ever track down Monty?”

 

“No,” said Jenna. “He just disappeared.”

 

“Just so he stays disappeared,” grunted Anny. “If he shows up again, you call me, you understand?” Her mother nodded but didn’t say anything. “Were you able to get any crops in this spring?”

 

“Oh yes!” said Becca. “Mr. Jolson from down the hill helped out a lot.”

 

“I think Mama is sweet on him,” whispered Jenna. That led to the subject of her sisters’ romances. Both girls had serious boyfriends and it seemed like they expected proposals any moment. Well, maybe one of them could move in and help with the farm…

 

“Do you have a boyfriend, Anny?” giggled Jenna. “Or aren’t you allowed?”

 

“Yes I do,” replied Anny. “In fact, there he is now.” Jer had arrived along with Patric Mederov. They pulled up chairs and joined them. Both seemed quite surprised to see Anny’s family. Her mother and both sisters sized up Jer with interest.

 

“So where’s Alby?” asked Anny.

 

“Dunno,” said Patric. “Maybe he’s taken up that ImpSec offer.”

 

“Hope not,” said Jer. “I’d miss the little git.”

 

Anny nodded. Commodore Galeni actually had asked Alby to join ImpSec, but amazingly it was only an offer and not an order. Usually, ImpSec just took whoever it wanted.

 

“Yeah, me, too,” said Patric. “Still you could hardly blame him if he took it. I mean being the S2 of an infantry regiment is a waste of his talent.”

 

“True,” said Anny. She turned to Jer. “How are you making out with your platoon? Vorkerkas still behaving?”

 

Jer shook his head. “I can’t figure the guy out. He’s been downright friendly of late. I don’t know what he’s up to, but I’m not complaining.”

 

“Well, that’s good… oh, there’s Alby.”

 

Alby arrived and he looked excited. Introductions were made and he dragged up another chair. “Have you heard the news?” he asked.

 

“What news?”

 

“Vorsilva is gone!”

 

“Really?” asked Anny. Her one worry about returning to Fort Vorolson was that Brigadier Vorsilva was still here and she doubted he’d forgiven her. “What happened?”

 

“In fact, the 25th Brigade’s gone, too! They disbanded it!”

 

“You’re kidding!” said Jer. “So who do we belong to now?”

 

“Well that’s the thing,” said Alby. “From what I’m hearing they are planning on bringing in another assault regiment, the 26th maybe, and forming an actual assault brigade.”

 

“There’s never been anything like that before, has there?” asked Anny.

 

“I don’t think so. And get this: they’ll be keeping the 283rd and the 32nd! Artillery and heavy armor attached directly to us!”

 

“Man, if we’d just had those tanks back on Novo Paveo,” said Jer, shaking his head.

 

“Yeah. Oh, and the one other rumor is that if this really happens they will be making Sylvanus the brigade commander.”

 

“Well that would be good!” said Patric.

 

“Yes!” said Anny enthusiastically. She’d always like Sylvanus.

 

“Wonder if he needs a G2?” said Alby.

 

The others laughed. “Not going with ImpSec?” asked Jer.

 

“I don’t think so. Too damn many rules with that bunch. But…” Alby’s expression grew serious.

 

“But what?”

 

“Abbie’s going to apply for a posting with a regiment on Sergyar.”

 

“Oh dear,” said Anny. “I’m sorry.”

 

“Well, her family is all there,” pointed out Jer.

 

“Nothing’s decided yet,” shrugged Alby. “We’ll have to see what happens.” Anny had noticed that the two-year separation seemed to have dampened the feelings between the two. Well, that was something they would have to work out.

 

Anny’s family had been observing all this in silence but now all conversation had to come to an end. It was time to get ready. The boys all headed back to their quarters and Anny, for lack of any better idea, took her mother and sisters back to hers. She made one call on her wristcom on the way. Bjorlin was just finishing up and he left to get ready himself.

 

“Who is that man?” asked Becca.

 

“He’s my dog-robber.”

 

“Your _what_?”

 

“Oh, that’s just an expression. He’s like a servant. But only part time. He’s a soldier, too.”

 

“You have a _servant_?” Her sisters’ eyes had gone wide. Apparently this impressed them more than the fact she commanded an infantry company.

 

“Yes. I have to pay him, too.”

 

She settled them as best she could and then took a quick shower. When she came out she started to dress and then realized that they were all gawking at her. Her sisters looked shocked; her mother sniffled and put her hand up to her mouth. _What? Oh! Shit!_

 

“It’s all right,” she said softly. “Doesn’t hurt or anything.”

 

“Can they… Are they going to fix it?” gasped Jenna.

 

“Sure; my new arm’s almost half grown. When it’s done you won’t be able to tell anything ever happened.” She hastily donned her shirt.

 

“I’m… I’m so sorry!” said her mother.

 

“Don’t be. They can fix it.”

 

“The news story we saw only said that you had been wounded. We never thought…!”

 

“It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.” She finished with her trousers and boots and then put on her tunic. Her sisters recovered quicker and started asking about all the badges and decorations. She hesitated when she got to the wound medals.

 

“Why are there three of them?” demanded Becca. “What else did you lose?”

 

“Nothing. One was for when I got burned in the forest fire—I know I told you about that. The other was when I took my apprentice cruise. Got a little banged up and broke a few ribs.” She buttoned up the tunic, put on her belt, and then clipped her sword to the hangers.

 

“Wow,” said Jenna.

 

“You look really… fine, Anny,” said Becca.

 

“Thanks.”

 

Her mother got up from where she was sitting. She came over and looked her up and down. “Anny, you do look fine. I’m… I’m proud of you.”

 

Anny smiled and put her hands on her mother’s arms. “Thank you, Mama.”

 

A knock on her door broke the moment. She opened it and, as she’d expected, Corporal Kane was standing there. “Hi, Captain! What can I do for you?”

 

“Hello, Corporal. I was hoping, since you aren’t part of today’s ceremonies, that you could take charge of my mother and sisters and make sure they get a good spot to watch.”

 

“Well, I will be covering things for the _Gazette_ , but there’s no reason they can’t tag along.”

 

“Excellent.” She made the introductions and then they all left the building. She headed for the barracks while Corporal Kane led the others off toward the parade ground.

 

C Company was just forming up when she arrived. Spotless uniforms, gleaming boots, glittering brass, lots of new medals, they looked wonderful. They fell in and Anny opened the ranks and made a quick—and completely unnecessary—inspection. As she closed the ranks her earbug beeped. It was the Adjutant and he wanted the status of all the companies.

 

“A Company, ready.”

 

“B Company, ready”

 

“C Company, ready,” reported Anny.

 

When they had all reported ready, the companies moved out onto the main road and formed in column. Two years ago they would have had to break into platoons to fit on the road. Today they could do it in a company front. The field officers appeared and took their positions and then the command was given and off they marched. The band sounded a bit thin and a little off-key. Far too many of their number had been lost on Novo Paveo and some of the new additions definitely needed practice.

 

They reached the parade ground and formed line of battle facing a large reviewing stand which had been erected. The Regiment opened ranks and was placed at parade rest. Anny stood four paces in front of her company. There were thousands of people watching from around the edges of the field. Some were families of men in the 61st; some were people from the town; and some were other military personnel from the base—including the replacements for the 61st. They would soon be part of the Regiment, but they weren’t part of it yet. Not for this.

 

There was a cluster of officers and dignitaries on the stand. The Emperor was there in full uniform, and the Empress, wearing Barrayaran garb this time. But Anny’s eyes were on eleven groups of chairs near the rear of the platform and the people huddled on them.

 

There were speeches, of course. Generals and an admiral and even Count Vortugalov because Fort Vorolson was in his district; all had something to say. Each sang the praises of the 61st while at the same time, somehow implying that they deserved some credit, too. Anny blanked it all out and kept watching the people on those chairs. What were they feeling about all this? Did they even want to be here?

 

But finally all the pointless talk was done and the Emperor got to his feet. Anny’s attention was instantly refocused. The Emperor didn’t have a speech, not really. He just thanked the Regiment for its service and its sacrifice. And then he said: “The Vorbarra Cross is the highest decoration that the Empire can bestow. In the nearly two hundred years it has been in existence, only four hundred and thirty-eight have ever been awarded; usually one at a time. Today eleven shall be awarded; the greatest number ever given to one body of soldiers. Let that be a sign to all of your extraordinary accomplishment. Would the presenters please come forward?”

 

That was the signal Anny had been waiting for. She sheathed her sword and marched forward. Ten other men were doing the same thing, the enlisted men handing off their rifles to a comrade. They converged before the steps leading up to the reviewing stand and lined up behind Anny. While they were doing that, the eleven groups of people, the families of the recipients, had gotten to their feet and stood in anticipation. Most were young women with children, but in some cases it was parents or just a single brother.

 

A man stepped up to the emperor with a stack of small flat cases. He handed him the first one and the Emperor said: “Anthony Fetherbay, 61st Regiment of Imperial Infantry, Colonel, Commanding.”

 

Biting back her tears, Anny marched forward and up the steps, back ramrod straight. She stopped in front of the Emperor and saluted. He returned it and held out one of the cases, with both hands as though it held something precious. Anny took it and then moved to the first pair of people. Sara Fetherbay and her daughter stood there, hands clasped, shoulders slightly hunched. The girl was crying softly, but Sara looked at Anny with no tears in her eyes. She was married to a soldier and she’d always known and accepted that this could happen.

 

Anny stopped in front of them and saluted. She held the case out and Fetherbay took it. “I’m sorry,” Anny whispered.

 

“Thank you. God bless you, Anny.”

 

This was too much. She saluted again, faced about and marched back off the platform.

 

The other ten men repeated the process with the other families. Each of them had some personal connection. A squad mate, a buddy. When they were done they lined up next to Anny. When the last one was finished, Colonel Lurray ordered present arms. Eight hundred white-gloved hands slapped against rifle stocks; Anny’s hand flashed up to the visor of her hat.

 

Then a lone bugler played ‘Last Post’ and Anny’s tears spilled down her cheeks.

 

When the last notes died away the other ten went back to their places in the formation. Anny desperately wanted to go with them, but there was one last thing that had to be done today. When she’d been told what they wanted her to do she’d argued against it vehemently. So they made it an order and there had been no choice.

 

General Franz Vordalla, Chief of the Imperial General Staff, now came up to the front of the platform. “Since the very beginning,” he said, “Barrayaran soldiers have followed their flags to war. Later, each regiment was provided with a set of colors. The men followed their colors gladly and protected them fiercely. But flags, like men, do not last forever. The flag of the 61st Regiment has done all that could be asked of it. So today the colors of the regiment shall be retired and put in a place of honor and a new stand of colors will take its place.”

 

He nodded and the regimental color guard marched forward and halted. Anny took a deep breath and then went to meet them. She came right up to the color sergeant, a man new to his post, of course. “I’m sorry, Color Sergeant,” she said quietly. “You should be the one to do this.”

 

“No sir, they picked the right one.” He held out the flag to her.

 

Or what was left of the flag. They had cleaned off the dirt, but it looked almost as she had last seen it. Staff, torn and bent, eagle missing, fabric ripped to a few tattered shreds. She took it and suddenly realized that she’d never before touched it with her bare hands. The metal staff was cold. Cold as Death.

 

She turned and marched back toward the reviewing stand. The Emperor had come down to ground level and two uniformed men stood behind him. One carried a set of furled colors. Anny came up to the Emperor and halted. She went to one knee and held out the flag before her.

 

The Emperor looked it over for a moment and shook his head almost imperceptibly. He took it carefully and then turned and handed it to one of the men. The other came forward and handed him the new colors. Facing Anny again, he carefully shook out the folds and the new fabric shown in the sunshine, the gold eagle at the top of the staff gleamed brightly. He held it out and she took hold, but he did not let go immediately.

 

“These colors are the emblem of the Imperium you serve. Carry them proudly onward.” He paused for an instant and then added “As you always have.” Anny sucked in her breath. The first part had been the standard wording for the ceremony. The second part had not.

 

He released his hold and Anny got to her feet. She marched backwards four paces and then dipped the colors in salute. She raised them again, faced about, and went to the color guard and delivered them to the color sergeant. Freed at last, she returned to her spot in front of her company, quivering.

 

The band started to play and colors were trooped back and forth in front of the regiment before returning to their proper place in the formation. The Emperor went back to the reviewing stand. Colonel Lurray then closed the ranks and commanded: “The 61st Regiment of Imperial Infantry will pass in review! By company, right wheel—March!”

 

They marched to the right and then did two left wheels to bring them back just in front of the reviewing stand. As they approached the Emperor, the troops began to sing:

 

_“The finest were Vorlinton’s Guard; The Sixty-First is just as hard; Our arms we wield from star to star Far from the hills of Barrayar. Far from the hills and skies of home, We’ll strike at planet, ship or dome; From Novo Paveo to Escobar, Far from the hills of Barrayar.”_

 

The song was old, but a few of the words were new. As C Company came abreast the stand, Anny ordered ‘Eyes Right’ and saluted with her sword. The Emperor nodded at her and saluted back.

_“The Colonel said: Give them your steel!_

_And we crushed the foes beneath our heel;_

_We’ll crush our foes both near and far;_

_For the Emperor! For Barrayar!_

_Far from the hills and skies of home, We’ll strike at planet, ship or dome; From Novo Paveo to Escobar, Far from the hills of Barrayar.”_

The three battalions of the Regiment marched on past and in her mind’s eye, Anny could see the bolstered ranks of the White Battalion following along, singing with all the rest.

 

_“Send us your best to do their worst, They'll break upon the Sixty-First. And when we're done, we'll leap afar Back to the hills of Barrayar. Back to the hills and skies of home, Done with our march, no more to roam; From Novo Paveo and Escobar, Back to the hills of Barrayar.”_

“We’re back, Boys. Welcome home.”

 

 

 

**The End**

 


End file.
